Good Lord.
Ok, here we go. I'm heading down to DC for work tomorrow, and my flight is at 7am. Technically, since it is a domestic flight and I will have no checked baggage, I can probably show up around 6:30, maybe even 6:45 and be ok. But I'm friggin' paranoid, so I want to show up around 6am. That way I'll be there, I don't have to be stressing if I'm going to miss the plane, and I can sit and enjoy a coffee from Dunkins.
The trip from Reading to Logan airport is about 20 minutes, maybe more if there is traffic. I'm not too worried about there being traffic at 5:45am on a Monday morning, but I'd like to give it a little wiggle room just in case. That means, I would love to leave my house at around 5:30am to get to Logan airport for 6am, for my flight at 7am. I know there will be a lot of sitting around, but I'd rather sit and wait for an hour with my thumb up my ass than be kicking myself in the balls because I missed my flight by 45 seconds.
Being the kind and loving boyfriend that I am (I just farted and repulsed my boyfriend who was rubbing my shoulders as I type) I figured that I should take a taxi rather than wake up Tim and have him drive me.
I google up some taxi services in Reading MA, and low and behold there are 14 of 'em! Christ! How many business people need a goddam limo ride to and from the airport?!
Ok, let's see. "Calculator" (names have been changed to protect the innocent) airport service. They have 4 excellent reviews, let me try them.
First try: ring. ring. Ring. RING. RING! RRRIIINNNGG!!! Fucking pick up the god damn phone! This is 2009! Who the fuck doesn't have a friggin' answering machine this day and age?!
I hang up. And because I'm a prick I immediately call back.
Second try: Ring. Ring. RINNG. RRRRIIINNGGGG! "Hello?"
"Uh, hi, how's it going?" - shit, what was I going to ask?
"Good, can I help you?" the man asks
"OH right, I need a ride to Logan airport from Reading MA tomorrow at 5:30am"
"Ok, let me call you back and see if we are available"
Fine. Take your time. In the mean time I decided to make some english muffins (from scratch!) and also make some chicken carbonara (from scratch).
He calls back. "Sorry, my guy's out sick, let me see if I can find someone else. I'll call you back" he hangs up. Leaving me very confused.
An hour later he calls back "Ah, well, actually I can't do 5:30, is 5 - 5:15 ok?"
You know, it isn't. I already have to get up super fucking early. Any earlier and I might as well just go sleep at the damn airport. "Let me call you back"
So I go to the second one on the google list.
First try: Ring, Ring "Hello?"
"Ah, hi, how's it going?" - Why do I keep forgetting what I'm calling about? Must be C.R.S.
"Good, good, can I help you?"
"Yeah, I need a ride for tomorrow at 5:30 am..."
"Actually" he interrupts "I'm out on a porch enjoyin a beer after the Pats game, you mind calling my wife? It's a family business?"
"Hahhahaha, um, sure, what's the number" - he gives me the number and I politely hang up.
What the hell, I love family businesses. More likely not to drive like an asshole because they only have one or two cars. I figure. So I call the wife.
"Hello, first rate limo service, how can I help you?"
"Ah, hi, how are you?" - Obviously too much mercury in the water.
"I'm fine... do I know you?" says the wife.
"Probably not. I need a ride tomorrow morning at 5:30am to Logan from Reading MA"
"Oh, ok, let me check ::Pause:: yup. we can do it. That'll be $75. That ok?"
"I ain't payin' for it. Sure it's fine with me"
"haha, ok, see you 5:30 am"
Ok, because I'm such a good guy, I decide to call up "Calculator" and let him know I won't need his service.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello?"
"Oh, hi, it's me" - Like we've become best friends and I know him.
"How's it going?"
"Yeah, I'm not gonna need the ride, thanks anyway!" I say, chipper as a bird.
"Oh ok, no problem. Sorry I've not been getting back to you quicker. I just got out of the hospital. I had ah... what'd I have? Oh I had a herniated umbilical cord. Yeah. I almost died, I've been tied up for about 2 weeks. My son came over and said 'We gotta get you to a hospital'. He took me and the doctor said 'If you'd come in on Monday (this was Sunday), you'd be dead! So I've been healing up from that. I could barely sit, let alone lay down! It was wrapped around my small intestine. It messed me up!"
Ok. For those of you who say I give out too much information, you need to call up "Calculator" and talk to this guy. King of TMI. Seriously. My mouth hit the table when he was telling me this. My jaw still hurts at dropping so far. Really? Do I need to know this?! Good lord!
I sat there just saying "Oh, wow, oh my, wow, ok, huh, wow, ok". Finally he paused and I said "Well, I hope you feel better" and hung up the phone. I'm still traumatized.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sweet scents from a cigar shapped dispenser
Riding the Orange Line yesterday, a man jumps on at Back Bay station, and he's all in a tizzy. He throws his bag down on the ground, and starts assessing himself as though he's been shot. I think nothing of it: I myself have found the need to frantically search my person to insure that I am indeed of sound body. Usually after I've walked through Dudley Square or any place in Dorchester.
After this man, this very frazzled, very tanned, very middle aged, very grey haired man finds that he has no extra holes in his body, he pulls out of his bag a metal cigar tube. He then uncorks it, and pulls out a small spray bottle.
Energetically and with all the enthusiasm of a man clawing at your shins while you are holding his head underwater with your foot, he starts spraying himself. All over. Everywhere. On the back of his neck, the top of his head, his hair, his shirt, under his shirt, his pants, in his crotchel region, his shins, his butt, and then his feet. He then sprays his hands and rubs this stuff all over his face.
At first I thought it was strange. I smelled nothing. Not even a waft of scent. I was starting to think that he was just spraying himself with water when all of a sudden it hit me.
It was... all I can do to describe it is use a really long analogy that will waste not only my time in writing it, but your time in reading it.
It was like an old Greek woman named Nicola who has emigrated to the united states from her hometown on the Island of Lesbos. She has lived here in the U.S. for 35 years with her husband Yurgi. They run a small dry cleaning and tailoring shop over on Elm St. Two years ago Yurgi developed lung cancer, probably from the chemicals at the dry cleaners. The two couldn't afford the treatment, and so Nicola watched Yurgi slowly fade away as the cancer ate his body up. He died a painful death 3 months after diagnosis. Nicola continued to work the dry cleaning store, only to fall slowly behind in work. Eventually the bills piled up (Yurgi dealt with the finances) and her store was forced to close. Bank notices and collection calls hound Nicola for weeks, until finally she receives a foreclosure notice in the mail. Distressed, Nicola goes to the bank, pleading for help. The nice young man who is handling her case says that he can only afford to give Nicola one more month. Satisfied and placated, Nicola leaves the bank.
Only to be smashed into by a runaway bread truck.
That's how bad it hit me. Soberingly awful and with forced tears in my eyes. Fer Christs' sake dude, fucking spray that shit elsewhere. I've heard of cologne showers, but goddam! The fucking orange paint on the train was peeling. I'd rather you shower yourself with urine because then I'd understand you aren't sane! Damn! It still haunts me!
After this man, this very frazzled, very tanned, very middle aged, very grey haired man finds that he has no extra holes in his body, he pulls out of his bag a metal cigar tube. He then uncorks it, and pulls out a small spray bottle.
Energetically and with all the enthusiasm of a man clawing at your shins while you are holding his head underwater with your foot, he starts spraying himself. All over. Everywhere. On the back of his neck, the top of his head, his hair, his shirt, under his shirt, his pants, in his crotchel region, his shins, his butt, and then his feet. He then sprays his hands and rubs this stuff all over his face.
At first I thought it was strange. I smelled nothing. Not even a waft of scent. I was starting to think that he was just spraying himself with water when all of a sudden it hit me.
It was... all I can do to describe it is use a really long analogy that will waste not only my time in writing it, but your time in reading it.
It was like an old Greek woman named Nicola who has emigrated to the united states from her hometown on the Island of Lesbos. She has lived here in the U.S. for 35 years with her husband Yurgi. They run a small dry cleaning and tailoring shop over on Elm St. Two years ago Yurgi developed lung cancer, probably from the chemicals at the dry cleaners. The two couldn't afford the treatment, and so Nicola watched Yurgi slowly fade away as the cancer ate his body up. He died a painful death 3 months after diagnosis. Nicola continued to work the dry cleaning store, only to fall slowly behind in work. Eventually the bills piled up (Yurgi dealt with the finances) and her store was forced to close. Bank notices and collection calls hound Nicola for weeks, until finally she receives a foreclosure notice in the mail. Distressed, Nicola goes to the bank, pleading for help. The nice young man who is handling her case says that he can only afford to give Nicola one more month. Satisfied and placated, Nicola leaves the bank.
Only to be smashed into by a runaway bread truck.
That's how bad it hit me. Soberingly awful and with forced tears in my eyes. Fer Christs' sake dude, fucking spray that shit elsewhere. I've heard of cologne showers, but goddam! The fucking orange paint on the train was peeling. I'd rather you shower yourself with urine because then I'd understand you aren't sane! Damn! It still haunts me!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Reaping!!!
This post was to be put up in August of '08. It ties in the fact that I had spent $76 on tomatoes the previous spring. It's been hanging around in the limbo that is my unfinished blog post section. I think it's funny, so read it.
It has begun! The reaping of the tomatoes!!! But not without peril... read on!
My coworker Corinne came up to me one Friday and asked "Hey, how are your tomatoes doing?"
"Fine, little wet" I said.
"Oh that's cool. Seems everyones tomatoes are getting screwed over this year because all the rain has cause a fungus to kill them all. Apparently it was the same one that started the Irish potato famine all those years back. Good to hear yours are doing well! You could sell them as locally grown and make a fortune because there is no competition!"
We chuckled and then went on our way. Later that night when I went home, I noticed that some of the roots on my tomato plants were looking very weak, and I had to dump excess water out of several of the pots.
Fuck. I was having just fine luck up until Corinne jinxed me. Thanks a bunch sweetheart!
So I did what any good, impatient, and pissed off man did: I ignored the problem.
Tim was a little more conservative. "Do you think we should move them in?" he asked.
"NO! They are fine, just keep dumping out the excess water from all this rain".
Apparently Mother Nature was having her period on my tomato plants. She was ruining them!!!
No to worry though, I only lost about 1 of the cherry tomatoes, and 4 (Out of 6) of the roma tomatoes.
Sure am glad I can make that $76 dollars is spent on them stretch out. After 3 weeks of constant rain and retarded determination of dumping out the excess water in the apparently undrainable pots, we had a nice sunny day so I decided to exam more closely the tomatoes.
All of them had almost no roots. I don't know how they were still standing up, but sure enough just like France, they were still around. Well that too harsh for my tomatoes. They never surrendered to anything. Lousy cheese eating surrender monkeys.
Anyway, there were a few roma tomatoes and probably 15 cherry tomatoes. All in all, I walked away with some very bitter, sour, 2.5lbs worth of roma and cherry tomatoes.
Holy fuck did I savor those terrible bites of tomato sauce that I made from the harvest. They tasted like your socks smell after you jog 5 miles. Acrid and milky.
Oh well, I didn't give in when they were being drown daily in rain, I sure as hell ain't giving up when they are "rippend" and "ready to harvest" (those terms used loosely).
I made a sauce and chocked it down. Mother Nature, you see what I do for you? Anyone else would have given up; not me with my stupid tenacity.
Stupid, stubborn tenacity.
It has begun! The reaping of the tomatoes!!! But not without peril... read on!
My coworker Corinne came up to me one Friday and asked "Hey, how are your tomatoes doing?"
"Fine, little wet" I said.
"Oh that's cool. Seems everyones tomatoes are getting screwed over this year because all the rain has cause a fungus to kill them all. Apparently it was the same one that started the Irish potato famine all those years back. Good to hear yours are doing well! You could sell them as locally grown and make a fortune because there is no competition!"
We chuckled and then went on our way. Later that night when I went home, I noticed that some of the roots on my tomato plants were looking very weak, and I had to dump excess water out of several of the pots.
Fuck. I was having just fine luck up until Corinne jinxed me. Thanks a bunch sweetheart!
So I did what any good, impatient, and pissed off man did: I ignored the problem.
Tim was a little more conservative. "Do you think we should move them in?" he asked.
"NO! They are fine, just keep dumping out the excess water from all this rain".
Apparently Mother Nature was having her period on my tomato plants. She was ruining them!!!
No to worry though, I only lost about 1 of the cherry tomatoes, and 4 (Out of 6) of the roma tomatoes.
Sure am glad I can make that $76 dollars is spent on them stretch out. After 3 weeks of constant rain and retarded determination of dumping out the excess water in the apparently undrainable pots, we had a nice sunny day so I decided to exam more closely the tomatoes.
All of them had almost no roots. I don't know how they were still standing up, but sure enough just like France, they were still around. Well that too harsh for my tomatoes. They never surrendered to anything. Lousy cheese eating surrender monkeys.
Anyway, there were a few roma tomatoes and probably 15 cherry tomatoes. All in all, I walked away with some very bitter, sour, 2.5lbs worth of roma and cherry tomatoes.
Holy fuck did I savor those terrible bites of tomato sauce that I made from the harvest. They tasted like your socks smell after you jog 5 miles. Acrid and milky.
Oh well, I didn't give in when they were being drown daily in rain, I sure as hell ain't giving up when they are "rippend" and "ready to harvest" (those terms used loosely).
I made a sauce and chocked it down. Mother Nature, you see what I do for you? Anyone else would have given up; not me with my stupid tenacity.
Stupid, stubborn tenacity.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Gay Valhalla Part 2
So before I forget what fun I had, I'm gonna just jot what Tim and I did for the rest of the week at Ptown down.
Sunday night we saw Hedda Lettuce, she is a funny, green bitch! She sang such marvelous songs as "Botox Face" to the tune of "Poker face" by Lady Gaga, "She's got a fanny pack" to the tune of Justin Timberlake's "She's bringing sexy back" and also my personal favorite, "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth". Tim and I sat close to the stage so we could get a good view of the action. In retrospect, it's kind of a bad idea to sit up close to a drag queen when she's preforming. You inadvertently wind up "participating" in the show. I was deemed the "Water Bitch", which meant I had to hold her water bottle and whenever she said "Water, Bitch" I had to hand it to her so her parched manish lips and deep voice could be quenched. She was such a hoot that I bought her CD. If I can figure out how to put stuff up, I'll put up her song "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4BJtGatuBQ is Hedda's "Botox Face"
We went to the beach a few more days and got our crisp brown on. Fun times!
We had a romantic, rainy dinner at a wonderful restaurant where you can actually color with crayons on the table! I tried to compete with the people who were sitting next to us, but their artistic talent beat out my autistic talent. Oh well, I still had fun!
We went shopping! I bought an hour glass for myself and my friend Anthony. Now I can literally watch my life slip away one grain of sand at a time.
I bought a cupcake from a stranger on the side of the road! As I was eating Tim's cupcake (the guy was named Tim) I thought "Fuck, I could make a better cupcake than this! This tastes like a goddamn hastily done box mix with a pepto bismol colored, jackass cream frosting decorated by caffeinated-Parkinson's-patient cupcake! Fuck, I want my 2 dollars back!
I saw Bob the queeny judge from "The next food network star!". He was vacationing in Ptown! Tim and I went to a cool little bar that was located across from Purgatory (the bar, not the plane of dead unwed mothers, unbaptised babies, homosexuals, Jews, the Irish, Ronald McDonald, and shopping at the grocery store on Saturday. Not entirely evil, but not good enough to get into Catholic heaven) that served some killer drinks. It was pretty nice! It was classy and all the twinky trash gets turned away at the door. We learned about this place from the nice guy behind the counter at the leather sex toy bear shop. He was nice and told us we should check it out so we did.
Anyway, Bob. I saw him across the room, and I thought "Do I bowl with that guy? I think I do, I should say hi, he looks familiar". The question as to how I knew him was answered when we bumped into some of my gay bowling buddies. I asked them who he was, and drunken Jim McDonald (in between gawking at Tim and doing his best to seduce him infront of me "Heyyouguisschwantohangoutschometime? ::seductive heavy lidded eye implications placed here:;) said "Oh that's the guy from the next food network star".
AH-HA! I knew I knew you, ya big queen!
So I hemmed and hawed all night about going to say hello and get a picture from him. I finally figured "Hell, the guy only weighs about 90lbs. If he gets upset that I want his picture I'll push him down, take his drink, and leave. Maybe urinate on him to exert my dominance over him."
I pulled Tim over to where he was standing and I tapped him on the shoulder. He is somewhat famous, what with being someone who is on a sub prime cable show for about 10 minutes at a time, so I became nervous.
"Can I get a picture of you?" I asked. Not Hello, not "Hey you look like a silver fox". Can I get a picture of you. That's one for the annuls of time you smooth talker.
"Sure!" and he turned around and Tim snapped a photo of us. He then asked me my name, and he said "Nice to meet you! I'm Bob! Have a nice night!".
What a nice gentleman. There will be photo's to come.
Now we come to the section of "Why we cut our vacation short by 1 night".
Thursday night into Friday morning, a terrible front had moved in. It decided to dump 1 inch of rain and have gusting, icy cold blasts of air rush at us all night long. The wind and rain were so loud we couldn't get to sleep. Tim and I were just laying there, on our slowly deflating aerobed, watching the tent vibrate back and forth, just wondering and waiting for the thing to collapse in on us.
Tim, in his meek voice, asked "Do you think we'll be safer in the car?" to which I promplty replied "We're safe here, nothing'll happen. Just go to sleep". I'd used the tone of voice that my Father reserves for my Mother when she asks him to pull over and ask for directions. Obviously I knew where I was and I knew we would sort of be safe.
About 20 minutes went by, and Hurricane CockBlock decided to pick up the pace and punish us like I punish a toilet after spicy Thai/Mexican fusion food: Horribly and with lots of gaseous shit flying around.
I decided to do what all men in my situation would do: Ignore it. That is until I pulled the covers up around my chest, and felt icy cold fingers of wetness grasp my toes. The bottom of the blanket was completely soaked in water.
This tent. This muther fuckin' tent. This army-surplus, government job, slap dash, economical, insect attracting, limp dick, made in Poland out of a goddamn sieve, fucking tent... was leaking.
Not just a little water. No, why have a little water when you're camping? Go for the whole experience. It was a goddamn bathtub of water. Our tissue box was floating. No lie. I wanted to cling to the deflating airbed to use as a life raft, but of course it failed at that like it failed at keeping my fat ass off the floor. I reached for our camp-lamp and put my foot down only to hear "Splash" and feel ankle deep water.
Innumerable curses flashed through my head. Some in languages that I didn't even know. I didn't need to turn on the lamp because the rage in my eyes was illuminating everything around me in a deep red glow. Tim said "Wow".
At this point: I. Have. Had. Enough.
"Let's get in the fucking car" I said to apparently thin air. As soon as I had said the word "Let's", all I saw was Tim's outline in cartoonish ghost form, and then I heard the car door slamming shut. I will be honest, it didn't take me that long to get there either. We spent the rest of the night sitting semi-upright in his warm, lovely Honda Fit. The trees kind of looked like really tall people in the gloaming, and it is no strange reason why I dreamt that we were driving through a crowd of people very slowly.
The next day, we both agreed that it was time to pack up our soaking belongs and head home. The weather forecast for Friday into Saturday was more of the torrential down pour. Sadly and with heavy hearts, we loaded up the Lela (Tim's car) and we headed home. Back to the oppressive real world. And work. FML. This is where the depression sets in.
We hit no traffic because we were leaving the cape when everyone was heading towards it. We stopped at Christmas Tree Shop, and bought a bunch of stuff that we don't need and I am pretty sure we haven't used yet. Such is the nature of that store. You go in not needing anything, and when you leave you are filled with items that you still don't need. Sort of like the casino, you go and lose money, only it isn't as satisfying.
So we made it home, unpacked all our stuff to let it dry out, then sat around and watched TV. All in all we had a great time camping!
By the way, we have a great Tent for sale. $75, OBO!
Sunday night we saw Hedda Lettuce, she is a funny, green bitch! She sang such marvelous songs as "Botox Face" to the tune of "Poker face" by Lady Gaga, "She's got a fanny pack" to the tune of Justin Timberlake's "She's bringing sexy back" and also my personal favorite, "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth". Tim and I sat close to the stage so we could get a good view of the action. In retrospect, it's kind of a bad idea to sit up close to a drag queen when she's preforming. You inadvertently wind up "participating" in the show. I was deemed the "Water Bitch", which meant I had to hold her water bottle and whenever she said "Water, Bitch" I had to hand it to her so her parched manish lips and deep voice could be quenched. She was such a hoot that I bought her CD. If I can figure out how to put stuff up, I'll put up her song "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4BJtGatuBQ is Hedda's "Botox Face"
We went to the beach a few more days and got our crisp brown on. Fun times!
We had a romantic, rainy dinner at a wonderful restaurant where you can actually color with crayons on the table! I tried to compete with the people who were sitting next to us, but their artistic talent beat out my autistic talent. Oh well, I still had fun!
We went shopping! I bought an hour glass for myself and my friend Anthony. Now I can literally watch my life slip away one grain of sand at a time.
I bought a cupcake from a stranger on the side of the road! As I was eating Tim's cupcake (the guy was named Tim) I thought "Fuck, I could make a better cupcake than this! This tastes like a goddamn hastily done box mix with a pepto bismol colored, jackass cream frosting decorated by caffeinated-Parkinson's-patient cupcake! Fuck, I want my 2 dollars back!
I saw Bob the queeny judge from "The next food network star!". He was vacationing in Ptown! Tim and I went to a cool little bar that was located across from Purgatory (the bar, not the plane of dead unwed mothers, unbaptised babies, homosexuals, Jews, the Irish, Ronald McDonald, and shopping at the grocery store on Saturday. Not entirely evil, but not good enough to get into Catholic heaven) that served some killer drinks. It was pretty nice! It was classy and all the twinky trash gets turned away at the door. We learned about this place from the nice guy behind the counter at the leather sex toy bear shop. He was nice and told us we should check it out so we did.
Anyway, Bob. I saw him across the room, and I thought "Do I bowl with that guy? I think I do, I should say hi, he looks familiar". The question as to how I knew him was answered when we bumped into some of my gay bowling buddies. I asked them who he was, and drunken Jim McDonald (in between gawking at Tim and doing his best to seduce him infront of me "Heyyouguisschwantohangoutschometime? ::seductive heavy lidded eye implications placed here:;) said "Oh that's the guy from the next food network star".
AH-HA! I knew I knew you, ya big queen!
So I hemmed and hawed all night about going to say hello and get a picture from him. I finally figured "Hell, the guy only weighs about 90lbs. If he gets upset that I want his picture I'll push him down, take his drink, and leave. Maybe urinate on him to exert my dominance over him."
I pulled Tim over to where he was standing and I tapped him on the shoulder. He is somewhat famous, what with being someone who is on a sub prime cable show for about 10 minutes at a time, so I became nervous.
"Can I get a picture of you?" I asked. Not Hello, not "Hey you look like a silver fox". Can I get a picture of you. That's one for the annuls of time you smooth talker.
"Sure!" and he turned around and Tim snapped a photo of us. He then asked me my name, and he said "Nice to meet you! I'm Bob! Have a nice night!".
What a nice gentleman. There will be photo's to come.
Now we come to the section of "Why we cut our vacation short by 1 night".
Thursday night into Friday morning, a terrible front had moved in. It decided to dump 1 inch of rain and have gusting, icy cold blasts of air rush at us all night long. The wind and rain were so loud we couldn't get to sleep. Tim and I were just laying there, on our slowly deflating aerobed, watching the tent vibrate back and forth, just wondering and waiting for the thing to collapse in on us.
Tim, in his meek voice, asked "Do you think we'll be safer in the car?" to which I promplty replied "We're safe here, nothing'll happen. Just go to sleep". I'd used the tone of voice that my Father reserves for my Mother when she asks him to pull over and ask for directions. Obviously I knew where I was and I knew we would sort of be safe.
About 20 minutes went by, and Hurricane CockBlock decided to pick up the pace and punish us like I punish a toilet after spicy Thai/Mexican fusion food: Horribly and with lots of gaseous shit flying around.
I decided to do what all men in my situation would do: Ignore it. That is until I pulled the covers up around my chest, and felt icy cold fingers of wetness grasp my toes. The bottom of the blanket was completely soaked in water.
This tent. This muther fuckin' tent. This army-surplus, government job, slap dash, economical, insect attracting, limp dick, made in Poland out of a goddamn sieve, fucking tent... was leaking.
Not just a little water. No, why have a little water when you're camping? Go for the whole experience. It was a goddamn bathtub of water. Our tissue box was floating. No lie. I wanted to cling to the deflating airbed to use as a life raft, but of course it failed at that like it failed at keeping my fat ass off the floor. I reached for our camp-lamp and put my foot down only to hear "Splash" and feel ankle deep water.
Innumerable curses flashed through my head. Some in languages that I didn't even know. I didn't need to turn on the lamp because the rage in my eyes was illuminating everything around me in a deep red glow. Tim said "Wow".
At this point: I. Have. Had. Enough.
"Let's get in the fucking car" I said to apparently thin air. As soon as I had said the word "Let's", all I saw was Tim's outline in cartoonish ghost form, and then I heard the car door slamming shut. I will be honest, it didn't take me that long to get there either. We spent the rest of the night sitting semi-upright in his warm, lovely Honda Fit. The trees kind of looked like really tall people in the gloaming, and it is no strange reason why I dreamt that we were driving through a crowd of people very slowly.
The next day, we both agreed that it was time to pack up our soaking belongs and head home. The weather forecast for Friday into Saturday was more of the torrential down pour. Sadly and with heavy hearts, we loaded up the Lela (Tim's car) and we headed home. Back to the oppressive real world. And work. FML. This is where the depression sets in.
We hit no traffic because we were leaving the cape when everyone was heading towards it. We stopped at Christmas Tree Shop, and bought a bunch of stuff that we don't need and I am pretty sure we haven't used yet. Such is the nature of that store. You go in not needing anything, and when you leave you are filled with items that you still don't need. Sort of like the casino, you go and lose money, only it isn't as satisfying.
So we made it home, unpacked all our stuff to let it dry out, then sat around and watched TV. All in all we had a great time camping!
By the way, we have a great Tent for sale. $75, OBO!
Monday, August 3, 2009
More Commuting Fun!
Today I consumed a record 5 cups of coffee before I left for work. The commuter rail wasn't so bad, until we pulled away from the Malden T stop. Then I had to pee. Badly.
I was afraid I was actually going to piss myself. Nothing puts a cramper on your day like walking around with moist underpants from letting a little urine flow. Trust me, I know.
So, thankfully, we arrive at North Station, and I book it to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure I pushed a few nuns and children onto the tracks, but in my haste I couldn't stop and see lest I let a little golden shower out.
I made it to the urinal, and let loose. It was one of those pees that feel better than sex. Honestly, I was a bit winded and I swooned at the urinal after I was done.
The man next to me I noticed finishing up, then he reached up and did a heavy grab onto the urinal flush bar. It was a very full, manly handshake to the flush.
I didn't think anything of it, because I was too busy zippering up. I turned around, and went to wash my hands, but stood aghast. Every one of the sinks was overflowing because they were clogged, and people were furiously pumping the handsoap dispensers to no avail. Not even the trace scents of soap were inside these empty and dry dispensers.
I decided to forgo the hand washing and whipped out my trusty purell bottle. I always carry some. I ride the damn T! If I didn't have purell with me, I'm pretty sure I would have caught malaria, syphilis, dysentery, E. bola, and a whole host of "social" diseases.
I noticed that the man who was having a moment with the flush bar look at the sinks, then just walk out. He was standing by the bathroom when I came out, and for some reason I had a stroke of kindness.
"Would you like some Purell?" I asked.
The man looked at me as if I asked if he would like me to spray him down with whale piss then follow it up with powdered chicken shit.
"What? No, I don't think so" he said.
Right. Because my offering you hand sanitizer is gross. Never mind the fact that you were just touching your crusty, gonorrhea infested crotch, then the chlamydia infected flush bar, and then didn't wash your hands because the sinks were too gross for you. You nasty bastard.
Ten bucks says he's on his way to work at some Sysco or Aramark food service, tossing salad with his hands, or slicing deli meat for the lunch rush. Come to think of it he did look like the guy who makes my sandwiches at the B.I. Great.
Commuting is fun!
I was afraid I was actually going to piss myself. Nothing puts a cramper on your day like walking around with moist underpants from letting a little urine flow. Trust me, I know.
So, thankfully, we arrive at North Station, and I book it to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure I pushed a few nuns and children onto the tracks, but in my haste I couldn't stop and see lest I let a little golden shower out.
I made it to the urinal, and let loose. It was one of those pees that feel better than sex. Honestly, I was a bit winded and I swooned at the urinal after I was done.
The man next to me I noticed finishing up, then he reached up and did a heavy grab onto the urinal flush bar. It was a very full, manly handshake to the flush.
I didn't think anything of it, because I was too busy zippering up. I turned around, and went to wash my hands, but stood aghast. Every one of the sinks was overflowing because they were clogged, and people were furiously pumping the handsoap dispensers to no avail. Not even the trace scents of soap were inside these empty and dry dispensers.
I decided to forgo the hand washing and whipped out my trusty purell bottle. I always carry some. I ride the damn T! If I didn't have purell with me, I'm pretty sure I would have caught malaria, syphilis, dysentery, E. bola, and a whole host of "social" diseases.
I noticed that the man who was having a moment with the flush bar look at the sinks, then just walk out. He was standing by the bathroom when I came out, and for some reason I had a stroke of kindness.
"Would you like some Purell?" I asked.
The man looked at me as if I asked if he would like me to spray him down with whale piss then follow it up with powdered chicken shit.
"What? No, I don't think so" he said.
Right. Because my offering you hand sanitizer is gross. Never mind the fact that you were just touching your crusty, gonorrhea infested crotch, then the chlamydia infected flush bar, and then didn't wash your hands because the sinks were too gross for you. You nasty bastard.
Ten bucks says he's on his way to work at some Sysco or Aramark food service, tossing salad with his hands, or slicing deli meat for the lunch rush. Come to think of it he did look like the guy who makes my sandwiches at the B.I. Great.
Commuting is fun!
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 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:
Terrible.
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!
For any of you who can't imagine what that would smell like; I can sum it up in one word:
Terrible.
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!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The stuff I over hear
While I was showering at the gym this morning, what did I over hear someone say to another man?
"Hey man, how's it going?"
"I'm good, what's new?"
"Not much... oh, hey, you wear your hat to the table, huh?"
"Yeah, never had it done. The wife loves it."
"That's cool. Hey, listen, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow!"
"Bye Mike"
What? Wait, What?! Huh?! WHAT DID HE SAY?!
When did it become Kosher to talk about a man's circumcision while showering at the gym?!! Normally you are just supposed to stare from afar and act like you aren't looking. These two fellows just up and change the rule. What's next?
"Hey Steve, how's life?"
"Good! Hey, I never knew you had 3 testicles! That's groovy!"
"Yeah, the wife loves it."
Or how about
"Hey Jim, what's shakin'"
"Oh hey Roy. Say Roy, you are awfully stretched down there. You ok?"
"Oh yeah I'm fine. Just had me a really deep anal fisting from a guy in the steam room"
Then what's after that?
"Hey Tom... let me help you with that...(nom nom gag)
"Oh, thanks Mark, little to the left, that's it. Thanks a bunch."
"Did you eat pineapple and asparagus?"
What the fuck?! Come on people, show a little dignity! Talk about the weather or sports, don't ogle each other's wedding tackle! Jeese... I'm gay and I'm complaining!
"Hey man, how's it going?"
"I'm good, what's new?"
"Not much... oh, hey, you wear your hat to the table, huh?"
"Yeah, never had it done. The wife loves it."
"That's cool. Hey, listen, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow!"
"Bye Mike"
What? Wait, What?! Huh?! WHAT DID HE SAY?!
When did it become Kosher to talk about a man's circumcision while showering at the gym?!! Normally you are just supposed to stare from afar and act like you aren't looking. These two fellows just up and change the rule. What's next?
"Hey Steve, how's life?"
"Good! Hey, I never knew you had 3 testicles! That's groovy!"
"Yeah, the wife loves it."
Or how about
"Hey Jim, what's shakin'"
"Oh hey Roy. Say Roy, you are awfully stretched down there. You ok?"
"Oh yeah I'm fine. Just had me a really deep anal fisting from a guy in the steam room"
Then what's after that?
"Hey Tom... let me help you with that...(nom nom gag)
"Oh, thanks Mark, little to the left, that's it. Thanks a bunch."
"Did you eat pineapple and asparagus?"
What the fuck?! Come on people, show a little dignity! Talk about the weather or sports, don't ogle each other's wedding tackle! Jeese... I'm gay and I'm complaining!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Pride Weekend Part II (SURPRISE!!!!)
So after all that stuff happened on Saturday, June 13th, I had planned on having lunch with my buddies on Sunday the 14th at Dbar. I love Dbar, a really nicely decorated restaurant with great food and tons of the gays. It's an upscale restaurant that caters to the gays!
After getting home at around 2:30am and finally crashing into bed around 2:45am, I am awakened by an alarm. I can't remember if it was Tim's alarm or mine. Needless to say I didn't want to get out of Bed. Tim kept saying "It's 10am, get up and get ready! We have to meet your friends for 11 at Dbar!" Never before had he cared about me being on time for my friends, but needless to say I didn't think anything of it.
I showered and got dressed, and then Tim started to say that he was feeling a bit under the weather (he was holding his stomach and he said that he had the runs). I felt bad and was going to stay home, but he said that I should go and not worry about him. He also reminded me that it was now 10:45am and I was going to be late getting to my friends.
So I give him a peck on the cheek (I don't want what he caught) and I rush outside to my car. I turn the engine on and the time on the digital display reads "10:25". I just thought that Tim had been inching the clock forward so he won't ever be late for his class.
I get down into Cambridge, pick of Chris Erdo, and then we make our way over into Charlestown to pick up Patrick LeRoy. Unlucky for us, Charlestown was having it's "Bunker Hill Memorial Parade". The already freakishly confusing one way streets of Charlestown were now being converted into a veritable kamikaze mission. I felt like a mouse in a maze, only there was no cheese for a reward and the soundtrack was Cher and Madonna.
We finally make it to Dbar. We sit down with Chris, his friend, John Cesanick, Victor and Peter (the handsome married couple) Matt Brooks, Chris Erdo, Patrick LeRoy, and myself. The usual jovial banter about gayness ensues, and I smile because this is the only time I can let my caddy self out of the closet and do some bitchin' gossip. Sort of like gay therapy. After a few moments of sitting, I realized that I had forgotten my wallet in my car. In Dorchester. So I excuse myself and rush out, thinking that for sure I was going to see some crack-whore blowing a Chinese business man while he was doing lines off a mirror, using my credit cards to cut up the blow in the back of my car. Thankfully I had locked my doors, and that didn't happen.
I head on back inside, and we sit and have some nice Brunch. I got the Eggs Benedict ( a rich and filling dish). The meal being finished, we were all going to go out separate ways, when Matty says "Oh, we have some time to kill before we are all going to the Block party tonight. Let's head up to Reading so I can buy some comic books at that cool comic book store". Matty had come up previously and had brunch with us before, and we stopped in and looked at a really cool comic book store in Reading.
I was a little put off, mostly because it was doom and gloom outside, what with the lovely June rains and all. I didn't mind Matty coming up, but I didn't want to go to the damn block party if God was going to be pissing on us the whole time. I just wanted to go home and sleep the shit out of my bed. I was tired!
I acquiesced (of course) and Matty, Patrick, Chris, and I piled into my car and started to drive up to Reading. Poor Patrick had some surgery on his jaw and was in a lot of pain, so he asked if I could drop him off in Charlestown. Thankfully the parade was over by now.
As we were driving along, Matty was in the backseat yacking up a storm to one of his friends. He was actually being kind of loud, but that's Mat :). I decided to call Tim and ask him what the hours were of the comic book store in Reading, that way if it was closed we could all just stay in the city. I called, he answered, I asked, and in the middle of chatting with him he hung up. I just figured there was a problem with his phone. He called back a few minutes later, and he told me the hours, and that he'll see us when we get there.
As we were driving up, somewhere around the Malden exits, Matty is sitting in the back seat saying "Oh boy, do you think we could go to your house first? I ate something bad!". I started to pick it up, not looking forward to having him drop ass in my bathroom. Why was he going to punish my toilet? It never did anything bad to him. Oh well, I guess better the toilet than my back seat.
So I pull into my driveway, and I start showing off my place from the outside to my friends. It was just Matty, Chris and I, so I was explaining the yard (yah, we can play on the grass!) and the laundry (we have our own! No coin-op for us!). Ahhh the benefits of living outside the city.
I open the door, and walk upstairs and I hear Tim call out "Kevin?"
and this is where I will post a video. You can see Anthony trying not to ruin the surprise by holding his mouth to suppress the laughter!
I said "Are you decent?!" and when he came around the bend, I said "Oh God, put some clothes on, my friends are here!" Trying to be cheeky funny.
Tim says "Don't be angry, I rearranged the furniture"
Me - "AGAIN??!! But I liked it the way it was!"
He told me to close my eyes so he could lead me in and show me.
So I do, I close my eyes, he leads me into the living room, and says to open them.
When I do, I am surrounded by a bunch of my friends ans family, and they all yell
"SURPRISE!!!" There is a big banner that says "Happy Birthday, Kevin!"
It was a big surprise birthday party! For me! I didn't know what to say so I smiled and said thank you and kind of walked around like I was hopped up from huffing paint fumes for a few minutes. I was very happy!
It turns out that my innocent boyfriend had been plotting and scheming behind my back for the past few months! Everyone was in on it! That is why he wanted me to stay out drinking the night before with Joe, that way he could clean the apartment and hide all the food! Also why he was so damn anxious to get me out of the house Sunday morning, and why he "fell ill" with the trots and couldn't come! He was planning it all!
Matty was also in on it, and when I left to get my wallet from the car, he told everyone that I was eating with that he had to keep me there for at least 1 hour while Tim got everything ready, and people were showing up!
Apparently Matty was also on the phone with Tim in the car, telling him where we were going, and when we would get there. When I called Tim, he was still on the line with Matty, and quickly hung up on him, then me to talk to him, then he called me back! I suspected nothing!
It was really a fun time! A lot of my friends and family showed up too!
For presents, I got a bread machine (which makes wonderful loaves of bread!) from Julie, Chris, and Adam. I got a Coleman portable grill from my parents, $40 from our neighbors downstairs, which is a lot considering we never really talk to them, a nice cake platter and some sphincter shrinker (I shit you not, that's the name of it) hot sauce from Anthony and Michelle. The awesomest gift that I got was a Nintendo Wii from Timothy! That son of a gun bought me a Wii console. So much for the $30 limit we set for each other!
Now I'm no longer going to the gym, and I'm going to be sinking all my money into buying games for this console. Thanks a bunch hun! I love it!
My brother and sister-in-law bought me some rechargeable batteries and a docking station for the wii remotes, that way we won't run out of batteries, and also a game called "Wario's Dance Moves" which I think is wicked fun. You do all sorts of different moves with the Wii remote to accomplish tasks. Pretty fun!
So we wined and dined the night away, then I pulled out the Wii and opened it up, and we all took turns bowling on it. It was a lot of fun.
My friend Adam and his girlfriend Erica came early and manned the grill out in the rain for Tim and I, and then they stayed a while later and we chatted after the party and smoked out of my hookah. It was a fun time had by all!
Thanks so much guys! It was a wicked blast!
After getting home at around 2:30am and finally crashing into bed around 2:45am, I am awakened by an alarm. I can't remember if it was Tim's alarm or mine. Needless to say I didn't want to get out of Bed. Tim kept saying "It's 10am, get up and get ready! We have to meet your friends for 11 at Dbar!" Never before had he cared about me being on time for my friends, but needless to say I didn't think anything of it.
I showered and got dressed, and then Tim started to say that he was feeling a bit under the weather (he was holding his stomach and he said that he had the runs). I felt bad and was going to stay home, but he said that I should go and not worry about him. He also reminded me that it was now 10:45am and I was going to be late getting to my friends.
So I give him a peck on the cheek (I don't want what he caught) and I rush outside to my car. I turn the engine on and the time on the digital display reads "10:25". I just thought that Tim had been inching the clock forward so he won't ever be late for his class.
I get down into Cambridge, pick of Chris Erdo, and then we make our way over into Charlestown to pick up Patrick LeRoy. Unlucky for us, Charlestown was having it's "Bunker Hill Memorial Parade". The already freakishly confusing one way streets of Charlestown were now being converted into a veritable kamikaze mission. I felt like a mouse in a maze, only there was no cheese for a reward and the soundtrack was Cher and Madonna.
We finally make it to Dbar. We sit down with Chris, his friend, John Cesanick, Victor and Peter (the handsome married couple) Matt Brooks, Chris Erdo, Patrick LeRoy, and myself. The usual jovial banter about gayness ensues, and I smile because this is the only time I can let my caddy self out of the closet and do some bitchin' gossip. Sort of like gay therapy. After a few moments of sitting, I realized that I had forgotten my wallet in my car. In Dorchester. So I excuse myself and rush out, thinking that for sure I was going to see some crack-whore blowing a Chinese business man while he was doing lines off a mirror, using my credit cards to cut up the blow in the back of my car. Thankfully I had locked my doors, and that didn't happen.
I head on back inside, and we sit and have some nice Brunch. I got the Eggs Benedict ( a rich and filling dish). The meal being finished, we were all going to go out separate ways, when Matty says "Oh, we have some time to kill before we are all going to the Block party tonight. Let's head up to Reading so I can buy some comic books at that cool comic book store". Matty had come up previously and had brunch with us before, and we stopped in and looked at a really cool comic book store in Reading.
I was a little put off, mostly because it was doom and gloom outside, what with the lovely June rains and all. I didn't mind Matty coming up, but I didn't want to go to the damn block party if God was going to be pissing on us the whole time. I just wanted to go home and sleep the shit out of my bed. I was tired!
I acquiesced (of course) and Matty, Patrick, Chris, and I piled into my car and started to drive up to Reading. Poor Patrick had some surgery on his jaw and was in a lot of pain, so he asked if I could drop him off in Charlestown. Thankfully the parade was over by now.
As we were driving along, Matty was in the backseat yacking up a storm to one of his friends. He was actually being kind of loud, but that's Mat :). I decided to call Tim and ask him what the hours were of the comic book store in Reading, that way if it was closed we could all just stay in the city. I called, he answered, I asked, and in the middle of chatting with him he hung up. I just figured there was a problem with his phone. He called back a few minutes later, and he told me the hours, and that he'll see us when we get there.
As we were driving up, somewhere around the Malden exits, Matty is sitting in the back seat saying "Oh boy, do you think we could go to your house first? I ate something bad!". I started to pick it up, not looking forward to having him drop ass in my bathroom. Why was he going to punish my toilet? It never did anything bad to him. Oh well, I guess better the toilet than my back seat.
So I pull into my driveway, and I start showing off my place from the outside to my friends. It was just Matty, Chris and I, so I was explaining the yard (yah, we can play on the grass!) and the laundry (we have our own! No coin-op for us!). Ahhh the benefits of living outside the city.
I open the door, and walk upstairs and I hear Tim call out "Kevin?"
and this is where I will post a video. You can see Anthony trying not to ruin the surprise by holding his mouth to suppress the laughter!
I said "Are you decent?!" and when he came around the bend, I said "Oh God, put some clothes on, my friends are here!" Trying to be cheeky funny.
Tim says "Don't be angry, I rearranged the furniture"
Me - "AGAIN??!! But I liked it the way it was!"
He told me to close my eyes so he could lead me in and show me.
So I do, I close my eyes, he leads me into the living room, and says to open them.
When I do, I am surrounded by a bunch of my friends ans family, and they all yell
"SURPRISE!!!" There is a big banner that says "Happy Birthday, Kevin!"
It was a big surprise birthday party! For me! I didn't know what to say so I smiled and said thank you and kind of walked around like I was hopped up from huffing paint fumes for a few minutes. I was very happy!
It turns out that my innocent boyfriend had been plotting and scheming behind my back for the past few months! Everyone was in on it! That is why he wanted me to stay out drinking the night before with Joe, that way he could clean the apartment and hide all the food! Also why he was so damn anxious to get me out of the house Sunday morning, and why he "fell ill" with the trots and couldn't come! He was planning it all!
Matty was also in on it, and when I left to get my wallet from the car, he told everyone that I was eating with that he had to keep me there for at least 1 hour while Tim got everything ready, and people were showing up!
Apparently Matty was also on the phone with Tim in the car, telling him where we were going, and when we would get there. When I called Tim, he was still on the line with Matty, and quickly hung up on him, then me to talk to him, then he called me back! I suspected nothing!
It was really a fun time! A lot of my friends and family showed up too!
For presents, I got a bread machine (which makes wonderful loaves of bread!) from Julie, Chris, and Adam. I got a Coleman portable grill from my parents, $40 from our neighbors downstairs, which is a lot considering we never really talk to them, a nice cake platter and some sphincter shrinker (I shit you not, that's the name of it) hot sauce from Anthony and Michelle. The awesomest gift that I got was a Nintendo Wii from Timothy! That son of a gun bought me a Wii console. So much for the $30 limit we set for each other!
Now I'm no longer going to the gym, and I'm going to be sinking all my money into buying games for this console. Thanks a bunch hun! I love it!
My brother and sister-in-law bought me some rechargeable batteries and a docking station for the wii remotes, that way we won't run out of batteries, and also a game called "Wario's Dance Moves" which I think is wicked fun. You do all sorts of different moves with the Wii remote to accomplish tasks. Pretty fun!
So we wined and dined the night away, then I pulled out the Wii and opened it up, and we all took turns bowling on it. It was a lot of fun.
My friend Adam and his girlfriend Erica came early and manned the grill out in the rain for Tim and I, and then they stayed a while later and we chatted after the party and smoked out of my hookah. It was a fun time had by all!
Thanks so much guys! It was a wicked blast!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Pride Weekend Part 1
This past weekend was very busy. I'll go over the first part, and then in a later post delve into the juicier second half.
Friday night, the little man, myself, and Tim's lesbianic friend / classmate Jen (she's a hoot!) decided to go to "Queer Guerrilla Bar Take Over". Basically this is a Facebook group that gathers all the gays in the city and goes to a straight bar and makes it a "gay bar" for the night. There is usually a lot of a gay people and confused straight people. We've gone many times before, and usually it is wicked fun. Last Friday it was a bit of a bummer, mostly because the DJ was so horrific. He'd mix 4 songs together, play a snippet of each song, then move on to another abomination to the ears. You could dance fast for 30 seconds to one song, then there would be an infusion of Meatloaf (the singer, not the food) "And I would do anything for love..."
HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU DANCE TO THAT?!
Eventually we crapped out around 1am and went home. I promptly let my head hit the pillow before I had to get up and finish a cake for my friend Joe. His mother had passed away one year ago, and the funeral was held on my birthday (June 23). So it stands to reason that his memorial party was going to be held on the 23rd of June, but of course fate likes to laugh at me and the party was decided to be held on the weekend of pride. The one weekend where all the gays converge on Boston and basically rule the city, I was going to be forced to miss a major chunk of it to go to this Memorial party.
Sigh. I can't really complain, because it is a memorial service, and a friendship is more important than seeing go-go boys wave their bulging speedos in our faces on Boston Common.
So here I am, 8:30 am, frosting a cake with a sweet chocolate grenache (most of which I ate out of the pot) then decorating the cake with pink and white stars. I've done this before, and it makes the cake look like a sea anemone. Sorry I didn't take pictures, I was kind of tired and didn't think of it. Thank God for Coffee.
I finish the cake just in time to jump in the shower, then rush off with Tim to Oak Grove to catch the orange line down to Downtown crossing so we could watch the parade outside of the state house. We like watching it there because it is usually shaded and not that crowded.
Tim's friends eventually met up with us as we witnessed the parade. Free condoms were passed out, as well as various articles on how to keep yourself STD free. Also information on how to help someone in an abusive relationship, as well as (my favorite) free comics from sexy men dressed up in super hero garb. There was the Flash, and Nightcrawler, and Batman. I am so going to Comicopia from now on for all my comic needs! I was also handed a cotton black thong from the Jaggermister float. It was a good time had by all!
Unfortunately, Tim was beaned pretty hard by a flying medallion from the Jaggermister float. As it struck, everyone (including myself) went "Oooohhh!....SfSfSfSfSfSf!!! (that sucking noise you make through your teeth when you witness something painful happening, or when you just got kicked in the shin). He was ok though, and we immediately went back to gawking at the Jagger hotties.
The parade over, the throng of Tim's friends and I made our way through the flamboyant press to Government Center, where the "Festival of Gayness" (as I call it) was taking place. Government center is basically taken over by tons of gay vendors and gay activities. Two years ago I signed up with my gay bowling league there. This year there wasn't much there except more free condoms and other freebees.
I also saw my favorite porn star walking through the crowd. Trevor Knight was just hanging out without his shirt on. I should have gotten a picture.
From here Tim and I went over and had lunch at Whole Foods. They have a really bitchin' salad bar there. You can go and load your plate up with completely un-salad like things like falafel and grilled chicken. After dinning, we decided to go home since we were pretty beat. When we got home, my head hit the pillow and I was lost to oblivion. I woke thinking I hadn't even rested.
I had to rush to get ready to go down to Easton for Carolyn Witt's memorial service hosted by Easton's best: The VFW. Last time I was there it was like walking into the exhaust pipe of a really big Mac truck. Since it is a private club, smoking is still legal there.
I arrived at around 7:30pm, and much to my pleasant surprise, the VFW had become smoke free! Though that didn't stop the old time crusties from lighting up 3 feet from the door and walking outside with a lite cigarette, or actually exhaling their last lungful of black, slightly blue smoke as they came in and sat down next to you. Oh well, can't teach all the old dogs new tricks.
We at hors d'euvers and everyone liked my cake. There was a DJ and dancing, and we watched a movie on the life of Carolyn Witt. Mostly just a montage of pictures, but it was moving and very nice.
I was all set to go home around 9 o'clock so I could meet Tim in the city and go to the Roxie. I wasn't too thrilled about the idea, it was going to be $30 to get in! That's a lot, considering there would probably be crappy music, but you would definitely get to see some sexy men scantily clad and bumping and grinding up against everyone. A few of my friends were going, and I figured that Tim and I would join them considering it only comes around once a year (meaning Pride only happens once a year, and all the gay clubs think "Why not charge the pickle puffers an arm and a leg to get in?! They have extra income!").
I called Tim, and he said "Well, we can go" and I was kind of dragging my feet. I said "I don't really want to, I have the Internet, I can always see naked men there". He said he would pay for me and it would be his present to me, for an early birthday present.
I said that I didn't actually want to go (truth be told) and he said that he didn't either, and I should stay down in Easton with Joe and hang out. So I did.
Joe Witt has the amazing power to make you do things you do NOT want to do. I'd thought I'd developed a certain resistance to him, but in fact I still am a weak willed bastard that acquiesces to everything.
"So we going to RCC?!" - Joe
"I don't really want too... it is late and I have a long drive home. Let's just drink here" - I say
We argue for a bit, and Joe finally agrees to have just one more drink at the VFW before I leave.
Well, that's all it took. That extra 3 oz of Grey Goose got me lubed up, so when he asked "So, we going to RCC?!" I said yes. But only for one drink ;).
RCC or Randolph Country Club is, as you would call it, a gay dive bar. It exists, and it is found in Randolph Massachusetts. On any typical night, you will find a collection of low lives, old people, and confused twenty somethings that haven't realized that there is are better gay bars just half an hour North AND South in Boston and Providence. This place caters to the lazy queer that doesn't want to travel that far from home.
Don't get me wrong, I love RCC. You can drink outside by a pool (Yes, they have a greasy, slimy pool) on nice nights, and I in general have a good time. On a side note, the only people that hit on me there are the very old (65+) or very socially awkward (something ain't right with Billy...). Sometimes the two merge together to create a socially awkward senior who wants me to be his trophy boyfriend.
Thanks, I'm honored. Let me just break up with my hot 27 year old spinner I have at home so I can wipe your ass after I change your diaper, you infirm bastard. How the hell did you get out of the nursing home anyway? Are you lost? I know you are confused...
So here I am, Saturday night at Pride, having a drink with Tabitha, Miss Karen Azulay, and Joe (all men). Exactly where I didn't want to wind up on the night of pride. Fantastic. After being served a revolting vodka tonic (I had forgotten that you DO NOT order the house vodka, gin, tequila, bourbon, scotch, or, in general, house anything) we wandered outside by the pool. I had put down my drink on the bar, and one of Joe and Tabitha's barber friends drunkenly staggered over to us. He was a short little thing, 4 foot nothing and full of groping 40 year old charm. He slurredly tried to sex us up and engage in conversation, but didn't realize that all his sentences were coming out sounding like one long word. "heyaboiswhatssexin?" I think is what he said.
I actually like him, because he drunkenly put down his drink, promptly forgot which one was his, and grabbed mine and downed it. Thanks a bunch! You saved me a hangover of terribleness.
So it is 1 am, and I'm running off very little sleep, so I say goodbye to my friends, and drive the hour home. I have brunch in the morning at 11 am at Dbar in Dorchester the next morning. I'll post about that later on. Phew! That's a long post and it isn't even done!
Friday night, the little man, myself, and Tim's lesbianic friend / classmate Jen (she's a hoot!) decided to go to "Queer Guerrilla Bar Take Over". Basically this is a Facebook group that gathers all the gays in the city and goes to a straight bar and makes it a "gay bar" for the night. There is usually a lot of a gay people and confused straight people. We've gone many times before, and usually it is wicked fun. Last Friday it was a bit of a bummer, mostly because the DJ was so horrific. He'd mix 4 songs together, play a snippet of each song, then move on to another abomination to the ears. You could dance fast for 30 seconds to one song, then there would be an infusion of Meatloaf (the singer, not the food) "And I would do anything for love..."
HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU DANCE TO THAT?!
Eventually we crapped out around 1am and went home. I promptly let my head hit the pillow before I had to get up and finish a cake for my friend Joe. His mother had passed away one year ago, and the funeral was held on my birthday (June 23). So it stands to reason that his memorial party was going to be held on the 23rd of June, but of course fate likes to laugh at me and the party was decided to be held on the weekend of pride. The one weekend where all the gays converge on Boston and basically rule the city, I was going to be forced to miss a major chunk of it to go to this Memorial party.
Sigh. I can't really complain, because it is a memorial service, and a friendship is more important than seeing go-go boys wave their bulging speedos in our faces on Boston Common.
So here I am, 8:30 am, frosting a cake with a sweet chocolate grenache (most of which I ate out of the pot) then decorating the cake with pink and white stars. I've done this before, and it makes the cake look like a sea anemone. Sorry I didn't take pictures, I was kind of tired and didn't think of it. Thank God for Coffee.
I finish the cake just in time to jump in the shower, then rush off with Tim to Oak Grove to catch the orange line down to Downtown crossing so we could watch the parade outside of the state house. We like watching it there because it is usually shaded and not that crowded.
Tim's friends eventually met up with us as we witnessed the parade. Free condoms were passed out, as well as various articles on how to keep yourself STD free. Also information on how to help someone in an abusive relationship, as well as (my favorite) free comics from sexy men dressed up in super hero garb. There was the Flash, and Nightcrawler, and Batman. I am so going to Comicopia from now on for all my comic needs! I was also handed a cotton black thong from the Jaggermister float. It was a good time had by all!
Unfortunately, Tim was beaned pretty hard by a flying medallion from the Jaggermister float. As it struck, everyone (including myself) went "Oooohhh!....SfSfSfSfSfSf!!! (that sucking noise you make through your teeth when you witness something painful happening, or when you just got kicked in the shin). He was ok though, and we immediately went back to gawking at the Jagger hotties.
The parade over, the throng of Tim's friends and I made our way through the flamboyant press to Government Center, where the "Festival of Gayness" (as I call it) was taking place. Government center is basically taken over by tons of gay vendors and gay activities. Two years ago I signed up with my gay bowling league there. This year there wasn't much there except more free condoms and other freebees.
I also saw my favorite porn star walking through the crowd. Trevor Knight was just hanging out without his shirt on. I should have gotten a picture.
From here Tim and I went over and had lunch at Whole Foods. They have a really bitchin' salad bar there. You can go and load your plate up with completely un-salad like things like falafel and grilled chicken. After dinning, we decided to go home since we were pretty beat. When we got home, my head hit the pillow and I was lost to oblivion. I woke thinking I hadn't even rested.
I had to rush to get ready to go down to Easton for Carolyn Witt's memorial service hosted by Easton's best: The VFW. Last time I was there it was like walking into the exhaust pipe of a really big Mac truck. Since it is a private club, smoking is still legal there.
I arrived at around 7:30pm, and much to my pleasant surprise, the VFW had become smoke free! Though that didn't stop the old time crusties from lighting up 3 feet from the door and walking outside with a lite cigarette, or actually exhaling their last lungful of black, slightly blue smoke as they came in and sat down next to you. Oh well, can't teach all the old dogs new tricks.
We at hors d'euvers and everyone liked my cake. There was a DJ and dancing, and we watched a movie on the life of Carolyn Witt. Mostly just a montage of pictures, but it was moving and very nice.
I was all set to go home around 9 o'clock so I could meet Tim in the city and go to the Roxie. I wasn't too thrilled about the idea, it was going to be $30 to get in! That's a lot, considering there would probably be crappy music, but you would definitely get to see some sexy men scantily clad and bumping and grinding up against everyone. A few of my friends were going, and I figured that Tim and I would join them considering it only comes around once a year (meaning Pride only happens once a year, and all the gay clubs think "Why not charge the pickle puffers an arm and a leg to get in?! They have extra income!").
I called Tim, and he said "Well, we can go" and I was kind of dragging my feet. I said "I don't really want to, I have the Internet, I can always see naked men there". He said he would pay for me and it would be his present to me, for an early birthday present.
I said that I didn't actually want to go (truth be told) and he said that he didn't either, and I should stay down in Easton with Joe and hang out. So I did.
Joe Witt has the amazing power to make you do things you do NOT want to do. I'd thought I'd developed a certain resistance to him, but in fact I still am a weak willed bastard that acquiesces to everything.
"So we going to RCC?!" - Joe
"I don't really want too... it is late and I have a long drive home. Let's just drink here" - I say
We argue for a bit, and Joe finally agrees to have just one more drink at the VFW before I leave.
Well, that's all it took. That extra 3 oz of Grey Goose got me lubed up, so when he asked "So, we going to RCC?!" I said yes. But only for one drink ;).
RCC or Randolph Country Club is, as you would call it, a gay dive bar. It exists, and it is found in Randolph Massachusetts. On any typical night, you will find a collection of low lives, old people, and confused twenty somethings that haven't realized that there is are better gay bars just half an hour North AND South in Boston and Providence. This place caters to the lazy queer that doesn't want to travel that far from home.
Don't get me wrong, I love RCC. You can drink outside by a pool (Yes, they have a greasy, slimy pool) on nice nights, and I in general have a good time. On a side note, the only people that hit on me there are the very old (65+) or very socially awkward (something ain't right with Billy...). Sometimes the two merge together to create a socially awkward senior who wants me to be his trophy boyfriend.
Thanks, I'm honored. Let me just break up with my hot 27 year old spinner I have at home so I can wipe your ass after I change your diaper, you infirm bastard. How the hell did you get out of the nursing home anyway? Are you lost? I know you are confused...
So here I am, Saturday night at Pride, having a drink with Tabitha, Miss Karen Azulay, and Joe (all men). Exactly where I didn't want to wind up on the night of pride. Fantastic. After being served a revolting vodka tonic (I had forgotten that you DO NOT order the house vodka, gin, tequila, bourbon, scotch, or, in general, house anything) we wandered outside by the pool. I had put down my drink on the bar, and one of Joe and Tabitha's barber friends drunkenly staggered over to us. He was a short little thing, 4 foot nothing and full of groping 40 year old charm. He slurredly tried to sex us up and engage in conversation, but didn't realize that all his sentences were coming out sounding like one long word. "heyaboiswhatssexin?" I think is what he said.
I actually like him, because he drunkenly put down his drink, promptly forgot which one was his, and grabbed mine and downed it. Thanks a bunch! You saved me a hangover of terribleness.
So it is 1 am, and I'm running off very little sleep, so I say goodbye to my friends, and drive the hour home. I have brunch in the morning at 11 am at Dbar in Dorchester the next morning. I'll post about that later on. Phew! That's a long post and it isn't even done!
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