The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

The Love Boat?

Back in college, one of my best drinking buddies pointed out a fact that I would rather have not had pointed out. "Patrick," she said, "you are a freak magnet!" Of course, coming from her, it wasn't an insult as much as a welcoming to the club. Sadly, she's very correct in her observations of my attraction abilities.

It's been years since I graduated college, and I've gotten better at deflecting the freaks I attract...but not good enough. I still have a few freaks that roll under the radar every once in an while, and when they do...it's pure hell. Thankfully, I have friends who will stand in and deflect when necessary. It's amazing how much a friend playing boyfriend can help deflect a potential disaster.

Except, my friends aren't always around.

Last year, I attended the Heritage of Pride Sea Tea cruise, which is a volunteer appreciation for our work bartending at the Pier Dance. Last year, I went on the cruise by myself, and had a good time. After my 3rd Corona, I met the man who would be named "Canyon Boy". He earned that nickname by the size of his cavernous ... well lets just say I now know where people in Manhattan park their cars. If had I not had a 3rd Corona, my freak sensors would have been ringing and I would have been smarter, but this guy slipped under my radar and I took him home for a "discussion of the Middle East peace conflicts". Of course...looking back on the experience, I can honestly say that I'm not sure he knows where the Middle East is. Can you say dumb as a tree stump?

We had maintained contact (although very infrequent) after that until about November, when thankfully our schedules conflicted enough that we were able to lose touch.

***7 months later***

While at happy hour with some friends, I get four text messages from "Canyon Boy", letting me know that he "just got out of the hospital after being on suicide watch, had Christmas presents for me, and stared at the picture of me from the night we met just a little too much." I promptly decided to not answer any of those messages.

During my vacation in Provincetown, I received more messages from him asking if I had forgotten to charge my phone or if I had lost my phone somewhere. My freak sensors were going off so loudly that even my fellow vacationers were hearing the bell. I ignored the messages and decided it was best.

This past Sunday, I decided to go once again on the Heritage of Pride Sea Tea cruise, as my friends were also going. Except they cancelled at the last minute (literally), and I was again stuck on the boat by myself.

Freak number one approached me before we had left port. Partially insane, and with his front teeth rotting, he suggested he handcuff me. Now, I'll admit it. Handcuffs don't scare me, and during the pier dance, he challenged me to wear them. I never back down from a challenge, and therefore let him put them on me that day. But on the boat, this reprehensible (and possibly mentally unstable) man wanted to handcuff me and grope me again, and I had to put a stop to it. I suggested he grab food from the buffet.

He left to gorge himself, and I sighed in relief until I saw freak number 2.

"Canyon Boy" was on the dock, waiting in the standby line, to see if he could get on the boat. He looked up at the deck and waved to me when I caught his eye. Now had my friends gone on this cruise (as they had planned), those two spots would have been taken, and Canyon may not have been able to get on the boat. Unfortunately he did.

Once aboard, he made his way to me and tried to initiate a guilt baring conversation. "Why haven't you answered my texts?" I secretly wished I had the handcuff guy back, but told "Canyon" to leave me alone, and walked away. I was making my way down the stairs (considering getting off the boat) when I felt the all too familiar lurch...the one that says...the fucking boat is moving.

Trapped, I looked at the other attendees and realized something. I was stuck on the Titanic of gay bars. Now I never categorize myself as "hot". In fact, I've been told I'm only an "8", but looking around the other people on the boat, it was easy to ascertain that I was one of the most attractive there.

In the regular gay bar world, when this is the case, you just finish your drink, turn and walk for the door. But this was a boat...and my only option was to swim for it. Where was an ice burg when you freaking needed it?

As we chugged our way down the Hudson river, I spent the evening dodging "Canyon" who continued to follow me around, running from "Hand cuff's", and eventually finding a like minded person, who was considering walking the plank and swimming to shore. Seriously...how polluted could the Hudson River be? Right?

3 hours of hell, trapped on the floating troll bar of death, where drinks were selling at $10 a piece and it was a cash only bar. I never wanted to be home so badly. I was standing at the door as the boat docked, and was one of the first to get off the ship.

I watched "Canyon Boy" from a distance, trying to catch up to me. Have I mentioned I can run under an 8 minute mile and he smokes?

Next year...I'm suggesting the Pride Committee have a BBQ in the park.

Patrick - 1:04 PM -

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