Just because a guy wears a hot pink shirt and leather pants, doesn't mean he sucks cock. But in this case, it was a pretty good indicator.
It's a Thursday night in Boston, which means Campus Gay Night at Club Manray, so odds are that the three hot guys in the outrageously Gay outfits do, in fact, suck a little cock now and again.
"I call the one with the long hair." Clitty says, as we carry our pizza over to a booth at HiFi.
"Given." I say, trying to decide which of the other two I'd rather molest. Actually, I probably won't be molesting anyone. Knowing me as well as I do, I'm pretty sure I'll just watch them out of my peripheral vision as they grab their French Fries and take off for Manray. But they don't leave with their French Fries. They sit down. NEXT TO ME and Clitty.
Clitty, being her remarkably socially obtrusive self, starts a conversation about blah blah bah, who cares, I'm not listening to her, I'm focused on them. Pink Shirt talks about why he likes Manray, how cool he is, and other things that make me happy that Clitty has called dibs on him. "I mean, I don't know what you call it when you like a bunch of chicks, but only one at a time---"
"Serial monogamy." I offer.
"Yea. That's totally what I am, a serial monogolist. But right now there's this girl I'm kind of seeing, but she's going to Maine right, and then like, we're gonna break off for three months, and then we'll see what happens."
"That's so wrong." Says the moderately cute guy in the mesh shirt and eyeliner. "If you love someone..." he drones on and on about love and society and other things that only someone completely awful in bed can care about.
The third one, the blond guy in the hoody, just sits back and takes it all in, occasionally smiling to himself. I decide he's the one I should obsess about, which means he's probably straight.
Eyeliner drolls on "...I mean I have my social security card, my birth certificate, and my worker's ID card, I just can't afford to get my Driver's License yet. They'll let me in, though right. I mean it's not like I want to drink. I'm twenty. I just want to see what happens there. We drove all the way from Cranberry Lake."
"Whereabouts in Cranberry Lake?" I ask. And he describes roughly the neighborhood I lived in about six years ago. And they're all in their early twenties. It occurs to me, I was probably their camp counselor ten years ago.
"We should invite them back to my house for a few drinks." Clitty says while Pink Shirt and Eyeliner argue about "their band" and Hoody suppresses a smirk.
I mouth no, and prepare to leave.
This is why I always miss the exciting nightclub life. There's always a reason: I'm too old, I'm too tired, my hair's too long, I'm not in the right mood. Even when Dmitri was in town, I was actively coming up with reasons not to go dancing with him when a legitimate reason fell in my lap like burning hot spaghetti sauce: Celeste.
I had told all my important friends: Clitty, Cali, Zuzu, and Celeste, that Dmitri was coming into town. Cali had offered to take me to meet him (which she failed to do), Zuzu had agreed to meet us at the aquarium (which she failed to do), Clitty said she'd hang out with us on Newbury Street (which she did, but she was late), and Celeste suggested we go to The Good Time Emporium, the local Chuck E. Cheese for adults. I'd been really clear with all my friends that I wanted my nights free to spend quality time with Dmitri. And, no, that didn't necessarily mean sex, just that I didn't want to spend one of the three nights he was in town doing anything that wasn't Dmitricentric. These were his nights in Boston.
Unfortunately, a week or so earlier, I had helped Celeste film an animation project, and we hadn't quite finished. When she asked when we could finish it, I said "Before Dmitri comes to town, or after he leaves." So, of course, the only night she could get equipment was the first night of Dmitri's visit. The night we were guest listed at a club that wasn't Manray. Guest listed. Guest listed. I'd be stupid not to go out clubbing with a hot gay that I was crushing on when we were on a fucken guest list.
So I'm stupid.
Celeste and her friend that Landlord dubbed Goth Girl, showed up at 7ish. Dmitri was supposed to meet a friend at the Dyke Coffeehouse at 8. He offered to walk while we started the animation project, but I was all kinds of pissy, and didn't feel like making him walk. I had given up a night of dancing with him to shoot this video, Goth Girl could damn well drive him to the coffeehouse. On our way, we picked up some vodka so that Dmitri could "ready himself" for his first time ever at a Gay dance club. Then we got lost. I mean Lost. It's really simple to get from my house to the coffeehouse. I'd walked it at least a half dozen times, but I'd never driven it, and with all the one way streets in Boston, we somehow managed to overshoot the coffeehouse by several miles.
Now, I should explain, this was THE THIRD TIME we'd been lost since Dmitri showed up. Somehow, I managed to find the abandoned warehouse/art gallery easily, despite never having been there before. But the Aquarium, where I used to be a member, completely eluded me. Coming out of the gallery, we walked back to the T, and I asked a cab driver how to get there. He pointed vaguely into the distance and Dmitri and I began walking that way. The completely wrong fucken way. We were, in fact, on the wrong side of Boston Harbor. Asshole cab drivers and how much I hated my friends became my favorite topics for the rest of the week. I don't remember the second time we got lost because I was probably still talking about the first time.
Once we realized we'd overshot the coffeehouse, Dmitri called his friend to tell her he'd be late. This was fine, as she was also running late. He took a swig of some Skyy, I tried to be comforting, he exited the car, and Celeste, Goth Girl, and I drove back to my place.
I should point out here, that I didn't really know Goth Girl. For all I know she's a wonderful person who was just having a bad night, but I do know that the two of us were not feeling much love for each other that night. I was quietly fuming over missing the dance club, but wanting to be a good friend to Celeste, and Goth Girl was angry because I don't drive in Boston, so my directions are from a walker's perspective. When walking, one is completely oblivious to one way streets. I told her a block in advance that we should take a left at the next Dunkin Donuts. Unfortunately, neither of us saw said Dunkin Donuts until she was speeding by it. The next four lefts were one way streets going the wrong way.
When we get back to the house, we were being polite in a way that underscored how much we really weren't liking each other. We filmed for what felt like days. On the way out, Celeste referenced a dingleberry, and instead of just saying "Penguin Lust", I let it get under my skin. I assumed she was pissed at me, or she wouldn't have brought him up.
Fine, I gave up a chance to dance with my cute crush on his first night in town so I could exchange catty digs with a friend that I was doing a favor for.
I went back to my room to pout, when I realized something very troubling. I couldn't find Dmitri's phone number. Dmitri was out at a club in an unfamiliar city with some chick he met over Livejournal. I had no way to contact him, and if he lost his cell phone or had some sort of weird emergency, he had no way to contact me. I was mid-freak out when the phone rang. "Hey Safey, it's Celeste, did I leave the videotape there?" She did not. If we spent all that time filming and being snippy with each other and she'd lost the tape, I was going to go to Church and take communion just so I could once again renounce God and embrace Agnosticism. She ended up finding the tape. God was spared my re-rejection. For the moment.
I turned on Adult Swim and resumed pacing. If I stopped moving, I'd fall asleep. If I fell asleep, and missed Dmitri's call (assuming he had my number), he'd never find his way back to the house. I am the worst host ever. I hate my friends. I hate my irresponsibility. I hate Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I hate that it's past two o'clock in the morning and I don't know where Dmitri is. I hate that I just shifted from past to present tense. But that's how focused on self-evaluation I was, time shot everywhere around me. Every tiny little failure in my life, not the monumental life changing ones, the stupid shit, was bopping around my head. Fuck. Dmitri's family didn't even know he was in Boston. If he was kidnapped, gang raped and murdered by a bunch of drag queens, what would I do? I didn't know his family or his friends, what, was I going to leave a comment in his boyfriend's Livejournal: "Hi, you don't know me, but your boyfriend was kind of staying at my house the other night, and he was gang raped and murdered while he was out at a club. Ummm...do you want me to mail you his iPod?"
I stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/113811.html
It's a Thursday night in Boston, which means Campus Gay Night at Club Manray, so odds are that the three hot guys in the outrageously Gay outfits do, in fact, suck a little cock now and again.
"I call the one with the long hair." Clitty says, as we carry our pizza over to a booth at HiFi.
"Given." I say, trying to decide which of the other two I'd rather molest. Actually, I probably won't be molesting anyone. Knowing me as well as I do, I'm pretty sure I'll just watch them out of my peripheral vision as they grab their French Fries and take off for Manray. But they don't leave with their French Fries. They sit down. NEXT TO ME and Clitty.
Clitty, being her remarkably socially obtrusive self, starts a conversation about blah blah bah, who cares, I'm not listening to her, I'm focused on them. Pink Shirt talks about why he likes Manray, how cool he is, and other things that make me happy that Clitty has called dibs on him. "I mean, I don't know what you call it when you like a bunch of chicks, but only one at a time---"
"Serial monogamy." I offer.
"Yea. That's totally what I am, a serial monogolist. But right now there's this girl I'm kind of seeing, but she's going to Maine right, and then like, we're gonna break off for three months, and then we'll see what happens."
"That's so wrong." Says the moderately cute guy in the mesh shirt and eyeliner. "If you love someone..." he drones on and on about love and society and other things that only someone completely awful in bed can care about.
The third one, the blond guy in the hoody, just sits back and takes it all in, occasionally smiling to himself. I decide he's the one I should obsess about, which means he's probably straight.
Eyeliner drolls on "...I mean I have my social security card, my birth certificate, and my worker's ID card, I just can't afford to get my Driver's License yet. They'll let me in, though right. I mean it's not like I want to drink. I'm twenty. I just want to see what happens there. We drove all the way from Cranberry Lake."
"Whereabouts in Cranberry Lake?" I ask. And he describes roughly the neighborhood I lived in about six years ago. And they're all in their early twenties. It occurs to me, I was probably their camp counselor ten years ago.
"We should invite them back to my house for a few drinks." Clitty says while Pink Shirt and Eyeliner argue about "their band" and Hoody suppresses a smirk.
I mouth no, and prepare to leave.
This is why I always miss the exciting nightclub life. There's always a reason: I'm too old, I'm too tired, my hair's too long, I'm not in the right mood. Even when Dmitri was in town, I was actively coming up with reasons not to go dancing with him when a legitimate reason fell in my lap like burning hot spaghetti sauce: Celeste.
I had told all my important friends: Clitty, Cali, Zuzu, and Celeste, that Dmitri was coming into town. Cali had offered to take me to meet him (which she failed to do), Zuzu had agreed to meet us at the aquarium (which she failed to do), Clitty said she'd hang out with us on Newbury Street (which she did, but she was late), and Celeste suggested we go to The Good Time Emporium, the local Chuck E. Cheese for adults. I'd been really clear with all my friends that I wanted my nights free to spend quality time with Dmitri. And, no, that didn't necessarily mean sex, just that I didn't want to spend one of the three nights he was in town doing anything that wasn't Dmitricentric. These were his nights in Boston.
Unfortunately, a week or so earlier, I had helped Celeste film an animation project, and we hadn't quite finished. When she asked when we could finish it, I said "Before Dmitri comes to town, or after he leaves." So, of course, the only night she could get equipment was the first night of Dmitri's visit. The night we were guest listed at a club that wasn't Manray. Guest listed. Guest listed. I'd be stupid not to go out clubbing with a hot gay that I was crushing on when we were on a fucken guest list.
So I'm stupid.
Celeste and her friend that Landlord dubbed Goth Girl, showed up at 7ish. Dmitri was supposed to meet a friend at the Dyke Coffeehouse at 8. He offered to walk while we started the animation project, but I was all kinds of pissy, and didn't feel like making him walk. I had given up a night of dancing with him to shoot this video, Goth Girl could damn well drive him to the coffeehouse. On our way, we picked up some vodka so that Dmitri could "ready himself" for his first time ever at a Gay dance club. Then we got lost. I mean Lost. It's really simple to get from my house to the coffeehouse. I'd walked it at least a half dozen times, but I'd never driven it, and with all the one way streets in Boston, we somehow managed to overshoot the coffeehouse by several miles.
Now, I should explain, this was THE THIRD TIME we'd been lost since Dmitri showed up. Somehow, I managed to find the abandoned warehouse/art gallery easily, despite never having been there before. But the Aquarium, where I used to be a member, completely eluded me. Coming out of the gallery, we walked back to the T, and I asked a cab driver how to get there. He pointed vaguely into the distance and Dmitri and I began walking that way. The completely wrong fucken way. We were, in fact, on the wrong side of Boston Harbor. Asshole cab drivers and how much I hated my friends became my favorite topics for the rest of the week. I don't remember the second time we got lost because I was probably still talking about the first time.
Once we realized we'd overshot the coffeehouse, Dmitri called his friend to tell her he'd be late. This was fine, as she was also running late. He took a swig of some Skyy, I tried to be comforting, he exited the car, and Celeste, Goth Girl, and I drove back to my place.
I should point out here, that I didn't really know Goth Girl. For all I know she's a wonderful person who was just having a bad night, but I do know that the two of us were not feeling much love for each other that night. I was quietly fuming over missing the dance club, but wanting to be a good friend to Celeste, and Goth Girl was angry because I don't drive in Boston, so my directions are from a walker's perspective. When walking, one is completely oblivious to one way streets. I told her a block in advance that we should take a left at the next Dunkin Donuts. Unfortunately, neither of us saw said Dunkin Donuts until she was speeding by it. The next four lefts were one way streets going the wrong way.
When we get back to the house, we were being polite in a way that underscored how much we really weren't liking each other. We filmed for what felt like days. On the way out, Celeste referenced a dingleberry, and instead of just saying "Penguin Lust", I let it get under my skin. I assumed she was pissed at me, or she wouldn't have brought him up.
Fine, I gave up a chance to dance with my cute crush on his first night in town so I could exchange catty digs with a friend that I was doing a favor for.
I went back to my room to pout, when I realized something very troubling. I couldn't find Dmitri's phone number. Dmitri was out at a club in an unfamiliar city with some chick he met over Livejournal. I had no way to contact him, and if he lost his cell phone or had some sort of weird emergency, he had no way to contact me. I was mid-freak out when the phone rang. "Hey Safey, it's Celeste, did I leave the videotape there?" She did not. If we spent all that time filming and being snippy with each other and she'd lost the tape, I was going to go to Church and take communion just so I could once again renounce God and embrace Agnosticism. She ended up finding the tape. God was spared my re-rejection. For the moment.
I turned on Adult Swim and resumed pacing. If I stopped moving, I'd fall asleep. If I fell asleep, and missed Dmitri's call (assuming he had my number), he'd never find his way back to the house. I am the worst host ever. I hate my friends. I hate my irresponsibility. I hate Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I hate that it's past two o'clock in the morning and I don't know where Dmitri is. I hate that I just shifted from past to present tense. But that's how focused on self-evaluation I was, time shot everywhere around me. Every tiny little failure in my life, not the monumental life changing ones, the stupid shit, was bopping around my head. Fuck. Dmitri's family didn't even know he was in Boston. If he was kidnapped, gang raped and murdered by a bunch of drag queens, what would I do? I didn't know his family or his friends, what, was I going to leave a comment in his boyfriend's Livejournal: "Hi, you don't know me, but your boyfriend was kind of staying at my house the other night, and he was gang raped and murdered while he was out at a club. Ummm...do you want me to mail you his iPod?"
I stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/113811.html
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