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.





Friday, June 29, 2007

A Question

Vodka...nector of the gods. Except one thing. How can something that looked like this after 4 drinks




Look like this in the morning?




Last night can be summed up in two words.

NO WITNESSES.

Patrick - 1:34 PM -








Thursday, June 28, 2007

Breaking Records

Performing comedy is a lot like blogging. You create a persona, a public entity that others will see. It's usually a mixture of who you really are, a mixture of who you respect, and who you've always wanted to be. Once the persona is created, you run with it.

As long as I can remember, I've actually been an extremely insecure person. Blame it on whatever reason you want (parental negligence, crazy grandmothers, child abuse) it doesn't really matter. My looks, intelligence, social status, abilities, skills, I continually questioned them all. It was only natural that the persona I created when I first started performing was a very secure, sexual man. It was easier than I first thought it would be, letting out my "inner whore" and I went with it. Full force.

Meanwhile in real life, I was painfully shy, and found if difficult to meet new people. I rarely dated while in college (partly because I was working full time) and spent the majority of my time with platonic friends. Yet, my performing persona was rumored to be having sexual fiasco after fiasco, and enjoying every minute of it. More importantly, other people loved it as well. By the time I was graduating from college, people were telling me about sexual exploits that I was having. The telephone game had started and what I was hearing was news to me. I hosted an orgy? I have a harness in my apartment? (OK...that one is true).

As an adult, I've tried to mix that persona into my life a bit. Obviously, if I've created this character, part of me wants to embody it. My close friends know the truth about my being shy, and they are less likely to fall for the smoke and mirrors of the character, but even they notice that my "inner whore" can come out once in a while. I however, dutifully deny that it ever happens.

However, sometimes I even surprise myself. Take last Saturday for instance. I was at the gay community center going for my annual Pier Dance Bartender Training with Jason. We went through the usual rigor and were given a tour of the scale model that showed us where our bars would be at. I was standing next to the Australian swimmer, who would be bartending for the swim team. I would be bartending for the wrestling league.

The swimmer, assuming I was a wrestler, asked how difficult it would be to pin me. Being that I've never wrestled (out of bed), I answered truthfully. "Yes, it would be easy to pin me." and only after the words came out of my mouth did I realize what I had ACTUALLY said. I had let out the "inner whore". Five minutes later, we were kissing. Jason likes to remind me of this now when I claim innocence. From that day forward, five minutes would be my record for a pick-up.

Until yesterday.

C train. 72nd street station to 81st street station. Less than 2 minutes.

I wonder if the Guinness Book of World Records keeps track of this?

Patrick - 11:38 AM -








Tuesday, June 26, 2007

A Serious Infraction

Houston...we have a problem. A serious problem. Not situational comedy kind of problem that can be resolved in 30 minutes, but the kind of problem that when you hear the foreboding music, you just know we are all in for a life changing tragedy.

This past weekend, Tunagirl visited for NYC Pridefest. We did the usual "pride" events (i.e. drinking profusely in bars, my random making out with a man, attending the parade, my running a race, and our working the pier dance as volunteer bartenders). It was good times.

Sadly, the time wasn't long enough (although my liver would disagree). It's sad when your closest friends, nay, your FAMILY members go home. These are the people that mean the most to you, and seeing them go leaves an empty place where they snugly exist when visiting.

But we still have a problem. You see, as is always the case in my life, Murphy's law will kick in. If everything is perfect and wonderful...something is doomed to go wrong. An ex-boyfriend will call asking to meet for coffee, I'll get results from a doctor's office, the student loan people will find me, my rent will get raised or something equally worse.

That's the case here. Tunagirl left a box of unused tampons in my bathroom. I've been inadvertantly tampooned, and I can't go into my bathroom until they are removed. My gym is 4 blocks away and I have the bladder the size of a kidney bean.

This has the potential to be an awful month until she comes back to visit again.

Patrick - 12:39 PM -








Monday, June 25, 2007

Being a Bitch

My Ex has always been a skinny little shit. From the day we met (in our mid twenties), he always had a 29/30 inch waist, and the appetite of a sumo wrestler. Dinner would consist of an appetizer, salad, a main course, and the invetible dessert. Unfortunately, I would join him in this eating extravaganza and post dinner, we would sit in the restaurant, nearly having to unbuckle our belts to ease the strain.

By the time I was approaching thirty, my metabolism slowed down and I started to rapidly gain weight. Thus I had to start dieting. My Ex still remained thin, and I resented that he could eat anything he wanted and still remain thin. The worst part was that he would gloat when eating a chicken fried steak dinner while I would eat a tossed salad.

"I've eaten so much, I better exercise and work it off" he would say. Then do one jumping jack. "Done!" I wanted to shove a salad crouton up his ass! Fucker.

It takes work combined with a little bulimia and anexoria to look the way I do. But thankfully time has passed, and I've learned to not eat as much as I've wanted, while my Ex recently has suffered the slowing of his own metabolism. For the first time in his life, I've got a smaller waist than he does. It's bugging him, but I've been nice about it. I don't bring it up. He knows he's gained weight...I don't need to rub it in.

Much.

My Ex went to Chicago Pridefest with one of his friends, and while heading back uptown from the festival, a young gay man in his early 20's who had been drinking excessively, threw an arm on my Ex's shoulders in hopes that my Ex would assist him up the street. My Ex, being the nice guy, let the guy lean on him as they continued the walk. The fact that the drunk boy was in his 20's, wearing only a pair of underwear, and was buff was of no importance. My Ex and I have a lot in common.

Walking up the street, the buff, drunk, 20 something year old said to my ex:

You are so lucky that you like being a stocky guy. So many guys have a problem with having a gut.



Now if you excuse me...I have to pay a 20 something year old a $100.

Patrick - 2:45 PM -








Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Help Wanted: Home Wrecker

Friday night in NYC is for happy hour. The same way the weekends are reserved for Brunch, Friday happy hour is a major institution, and not just for the drink prices, but because if you meet someone on Friday night, you have the remainder of the night to get involved in a relationship with them, Saturday morning to sleep in together, Saturday afternoon to get in a fight, and Sunday to declare a divorce and be back on your single merriment.

Thus, last Friday, while at happy hour, I was invited to a rooftop party in my neighborhood. Now, a good boy would have politely refused to go, especially since he had plans the next morning. However, I'm not a good boy, and I happily agreed to go to this party for a person I didn't know. Mainly because I wanted to see the 5th floor walk-up apartment with the wrap around terrace.

Shortly after arriving, I was introduced to the host who approached me with a sly grin. She asked me a very intriguing question:

How would you like to make $50? My friend thinks her husband is cheating on her and is secretly gay. I'll pay you $50 if you can find out.


Now I thought about it for a bit (ok...a second) and decided to take up the offer. Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, even if it is for the job of a home wrecker. And work should be challenging. I like a challenge. The hostess introduced me to he friend, the wife and a stock broker, who admitted that she and her husband, an opera singer (he's gay), hadn't had sex in the past 8 years (homo). The two women pointed out the 40 year old man, who was wearing Kenneth Cole from head to toe (really gay), and was drinking a Malibu and Pineapple Juice (gay as a three dollar bill).

I walked up to the target and watched as he was interacting with three men in their late 20's (Hello friend of Dorthy). His conversation was boring, but I distinctly heard him discussing the most FABULOUS (no comment) performance he had recently seen. Wedging my way into the conversation was easy, as the three other men seemed eager to move on to more stimulating discussions. I soon found out why, as the man was as boring as dirt.

Now seduction is never an easy thing with someone you just met. Ok...while typing that, I actually snorted coffee out of my nose. Most gay men I know are whores (or at least want to be), and all it takes to seduce one is to ask. "Nice shoes, wanna fuck?" is usually all it takes.

But this guy was different. His wife was there, so I had to seduce him like a straight man. I had to get him drunk. As he talked and talked and droned on, I refilled his foo foo beverage (homo), each time making the drink stronger, until he started standing closer to me. That was when he gave me the line I hate more than any other line.
Why don't you have a boyfriend?

***blank stare***


I don't have a boyfriend because I'm trying to seduce a middle aged closet case who hasn't had sex with his wife in 8 years (gay). That's why I don't have a boyfriend!

I didn't say that...but it was what I thought at the time. However, he had started to target me and was starting getting touchy feely while moving me to a more secluded corner. It was in that dark corner that he grabbed my crotch (ding...big homo on aisle 12). I made my excuse to get another drink and found the party hostess, to collect my $50.

I'd become a $50 whore, which is so odd for me. I usually do it for free.

Yesterday I found out that the wife wants to contact me. She wants me to help her when she files for divorce. Uhhh...I may be a $50 whore, but even I have standards. I'm not going to face a divorce lawyer unless you pay me at least $100!

Patrick - 1:14 PM -








Friday, June 15, 2007

That's So Fetch!

Now I should probably mention that although I've been writing these last few posts as if they had happened in "real time", I have not had 4 dates in four days. Even I need to get a little rest every once in a while.

That being said, after reviewing the last three dates, I found myself feeling let down. This is what it's come to? The single choices left in this city are nothing more than pool scum, and I've become the skimming screen getting these guys stuck in my net. Rich, poor, and poser...they all sucked.

So I did what any self respecting homo would do and took my skim latte and NY Times to the park for a little alone time. Unfortunately, so did all of the Upper West Side, and the only bench I could find a seat on was the bench in canine hell. Otherwise known as the dog park.

New Yorkers are fanatical about their dogs. In the winter, you will see dogs wearing leather coats (which usually cost more than any piece of clothing I own). In the summer, the owners take them all to the dog park, and set them free to smell the other dog asses, and hump each other in bliss. Not unlike a gay bar. And in this park is where I met Shaggy and Scooby. (ok...not their real names...but give me some artistic license here).

I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, tossing a ball for his dog. Scooby, an older mix of breeds, was happily playing fetch with Shaggy, but brought the ball over to me after his owner threw it. Ok...I'll admit it. I pretended to have food in my hand, which is why the dog came over, but it gave me a chance to talk to the guy.

Shaggy sat down and we got to know each other while continuing to play with Scooby. It was very charming, and we exchanged telephone numbers and I suggested going out the next day. Shaggy accepted and we agreed to call to arrange the details.

Later, when we finally spoke on the phone, I suggested a restaurant in the neighborhood that was a great first date place. Nice music, not too loud, trendy without being pretentious. Shaggy had one complaint about the place. "They don't have outdoor seating, so I won't be able to bring Scooby." I guess it was cute, but to go on a date with Shaggy, I was gonna have to go on a date with the dog too. So we picked an outdoor cafe.

The meal itself was going well, except that throughout the conversation, my date would in questions in the plural and always confirm his answers with the dog. "We love the park! Don't we Scooby!" It was getting weird. It's a dog...not your child.

Upon leaving the restaurant, we walked down the street, with Scooby stopping at every tree, each trash bin, and one bicycle to mark his territory. By the time we had walked 4 blocks, the dog would lift his leg and nothing would come out anymore. We stopped near a grassy area and Shaggy looked at Scooby and said "Go poo-poos" in his best baby talk. The dog did as he was told and left a big steaming pile to be cleaned up.

Nothing is more romantic than walking arm and arm with a date carrying a big bag of dog shit.

We walked along the street back to his place, where he put his dog in the house.

We had a great walk, didn't we? And we had such a good dinner. I wuv you. I'll be inside soon, my good boy.
It was sickening sweet...but hey...he's a dog lover. I won't fault him much. Seeing the other dates...I've dated worse.

We sat outside and continued a conversation for another 10 minutes or so, and then said our goodbyes. He looked me in the eye and said:
We had a good dinner. Yes we did. I'd like to see you again. Mmm-kay. Maybe next week. We could go to the park. We could play ball. Mmm-kay. You're so sweet.


I sounded all to familiar. Probably because it was in the same voice that he used when addressing his dog. This guy would take care of me, feed me, bath me, keep me exercised, and all I'd have to do is be his best friend and hump his leg every once in a while.

******
We're all searching for something for that illusive love that we've dreamed of. Those that say they aren't are lying. Yes, it's true that you don't usually find love until you stop actively looking for it. It's beating back the loneliness enough that you can find yourself entertained in your own life on your own that is difficult.

Now if you excuse me...my date just threw the ball to bring back.

Patrick - 10:27 AM -








Thursday, June 14, 2007

A Stinking Pile

If their is one thing that I've learned from my heritage, it's the gift of "the gab". We Irish clan are a talkative bunch (just add alcohol), and are able to strike up a conversation with most anyone. Of course, talkative is nice way to say we are talented bullshit artists. So seeing that I've been on a dating spree, I decided it was only in my best interest to go on a date with one of my own clan.

Now I should have known better. I met this one online. He seemed like a really nice guy, but I was getting the "did somebody flush" vibe off of him. Still I decided to give him a chance, thinking maybe that I was just making him nervous. Anyway...he invited me to a TONY's party.

Yes, that caught my attention too. I was a theater major in college, and although i thought it was a little late, any party for the TONY awards was a party I'd be interested in. In this case, TONY stood for Time Out New York magazine, who was having a party at the Hudson Hotel.

Now the Hudson is one of the more trendy places in NYC, with drink prices reflecting it. My date however, explained that he was "on the VIP list", and we would be admitted to this private party upon arrival. The party was going to be held on the rooftop deck of the hotel, and would have an OPEN BAR (I did say I was Irish).

When I arrived, it was pouring...I should have realized God was foreshadowing my evening. That, and my date was nearly 30 minutes late. What is it with NYC homos and their inability to EVER SHOW UP ON TIME! I'm rarely late, and if I am, I'll call to let you know. Showing up 30 minutes late for a date is just plain rude. Almost as rude as commenting on the spelling of a blogger. *3 Snaps in a circle formation!*

Finally, my date did arrive. He ushered me into the elevator, and up we went to the 15th floor, through the doors and into what had somehow morphed into a hurricane of rain. Sheets of water were falling from the sky as 30+ people huddled under the small roofed in area of the bar. Sensing how bad this was turning out, the organizer moved us all back into the hotel's lobby bar, where we could continue this event sans rain.

My date and I, finally settled, began the laborious process of getting to know one another. This was where things went from bad to worse.

ME: I put in to run the marathon this year, but didn't make the lottery.
HIM: Oh I ran a marathon a couple of years back with my ex boyfriend Matt. We each finished in just under 2 and 1/2 hours.
ME: (doing a quick calculation in my head) Really? You run a 4:11 pace? Which marathon did you run and what was your placing?
HIM: The NYC marathon, five years ago. My time wasn't scored though, since my chip fell off.


I'm choosing to believe that he was just trying (albeit very hard) to impress me. This continued into the evening.
ME: Yes, I've spent some time in Africa.
HIM: Me too. I was vacationing in Kenya with my ex boyfriend Matt. We saw Mt. Kilimanjaro and decided to climb it during our last day there.
ME: (Clarifying) In Kenya?
HIM: Yes.

Mt. Kilimanjaro isn't in Kenya. It's in Tanzania. A country South of Kenya. Once again...trying to impress me? I would like to think so, but so far, he was completely full of hot air. However, I did notice that he really kept bringing up his ex boyfriend Matt a lot. So I questioned it.

ME: When did you and Matt break up?
HIM: Back in December. But I'm over him now.
ME: Excuse me for saying so, but you've mentioned him quite a bit tonight. It sounds like you really aren't over him yet.
(our waitress, hearing my words snickered and cracked a smile)
HIM: Wait. You don't think I'm over him? I'm totally over him. Yeah, I had problems at first, but we've worked it out. We're just friends now. Look, I'll call him and he can tell you that we're just friends now.


And with that, he pulled out his cell phone and called his ex boyfriend, just so the elusive third person on our date could indeed verify that yes...they were strictly friends now. Our waitress smartly brought me another glass of champagne while my date had a "quick" 20 minute conversation with his ex on the phone.

Taking fate into my own hands, I called Tunagirl and acted like she had called me. A family emergency had developed and I needed to get to her imaginary home uptown. I was very sorry...but perhaps we could continue this date another time?

No amount of free alcohol is worth it.

Patrick - 1:18 PM -








Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Richy Rich

In my quest to see if money makes the man, I needed to find someone who was wealthy. Of course, my standard of wealthy is probably different than someone else. Wealthy for me is someone that makes more than I do. Currently, NYC teachers make more than me. Obviously, I needed to aim higher. A lot higher.

I wasn't even sure how to find a rich man. Most doctors and lawyers are already taken, I'm not a 22 year old buff rent boy, so my pickings are fairly slim in the rich dating pool. But dear god....this homo wanted to go for a swim.

I met Daddy Warbucks at a theater Charity event, and we seemed to hit it off. We had exchanged numbers and emails and I agreed to meet him for a drink after work. His career is of no importance (mainly because if he reads this, I wish no litigation), but he's on the partner track and very close to making the illusive SEVEN FIGURE SALARY. The man had bucks.

Tell me that doesn't get you all a little hot! This man can pay off a NYC apartment mortgage in about 5 years. Yeah...I'm so turned on.

As I greeted him at the bar, he gave me a kiss. Now gay men kiss hello. We kiss goodbye. We kiss congratulations. I'm surprised we all don't have Mono. But on a first date, a hello kiss does not normally involve tongue. I was a little thrown off, but recovered before I had his hands down my pants. Hello...there are people around! I'd say it was obvious he was into me...or at least he wanted to be.

We sat down and had the usual first date conversations. I bought the drinks, and he suggested we go to a neighborhood favorite for something to eat. We went to Bette. I had the Sweet Pea Soup. A cup of soup, but seeing that I can't eat much, it wasn't that big of a deal. He had a salad, the rack of lamb, a dessert, and split a bottle of wine with me. When the check came, he divided the the check in two, added a whopping 10% tip and told me what my portion of the check was.

Now although I do joke about this, I would prefer to pay my way when I can, but I never asked this man for his share of the drinks from the bar. With my cup of soup only costing $12 (who charges this much for soup anyway?) and my share of that bottle of wine being $20, I would have thought my check would have been $32, plus tax and tip. I was wrong. $68.73 (yes...to the freaking penny). Thankfully I had my visa with me. Hopefully ConEd won't turn off my electric for non payment.

Now I would have called it a night, but he did invite me to see the view from his apartment. A 38th floor apartment. I say floor, as his apartment was the floor of the building. We walked past the doorman, who greeted him by name, got on the elevator, and rode up to his apartment. The entire way up, I had visions of the beautiful view floating in my mind. The elevators opened upon a junkyard.

He may make a lot of money, but he doesn't pay for a cleaning person. Either that, or the maid's body is buried under the rubble of his unwashed dishes of the last six months. He led me down the pathway on his carpet (I swore I saw a roach moving) towards his balcony, and offered me a drink. I asked for a glass of water. He took a dirty glass out of the sink, filled it, and brought it out to me.

Mmmmm....bacteria...tasty. I honestly wondered if he cleaned his teeth more than his apartment. Thankfully I can attest that his hygiene habits are stronger than his apartment cleaning habits.

Tomorrow...the Bullman date.

Patrick - 12:39 PM -








Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Rich Man, Poor Man, Full Man, Dog Man

Money. It makes the world go around. It changes everything. Ask a mother what they want most for their single daughter and the answer is going to be a rich doctor. Let's face it...financial security is a blessing. You may not be happy, but you'll be desirable. People will envy you...and likely want to be you. Deadbeats like me will ponder how quickly I could pay off my student loan balance on his salary.

Money makes you hotter. It's why plastic surgery is so expensive. Nobody really wants to admit it, but a rich man is more desirable. But can money make a man better boyfriend material?


Date One: The Poor Man's Brunch

Now I'm the first to admit, I have no problem attracting poor guys (we have something in common). However I had known this particular man 2 years ago while I was working in Provincetown (at the time I had a crush on him), and recently ran into him in my neighborhood. We live fairly close to each other (the Upper West Side has an ordinance that only one gay man can live on each block), so we made plans to meet for brunch. Why is he poor? He's an unemployed actor waiter.

Brunch is a standard institution in New York City, and a perfect first date choice. Since alcohol is an option, you can determine if your date is an alcoholic (unlimited mimosas for $15 additional), you have your choice of lunch or breakfast items (and since I'm still not on the solid food, I can eat over easy eggs), and most importantly, you have enough people to look at if the conversation lags.

During our date, the conversation didn't lag. I was genuinely entertained and engaged by this man. We discussed his former parts, what he's currently working on, my own work, etc. I learned about his family (and oh...I have great comedy material now) and that was when the food came.

Now to be fair, I have to eat very slowly since having had surgery. And once something I attempt to eat doesn't go down easy, I'm done eating. My date on the other hand obviously had not eaten for a week. When I asked him how his eggs were, I looked at his place to see he was using his toast to mop up something that was left on his plate. Something molecular in size. His eggs must have been good, since he inhaled them.

I however, was having a difficult time eating, so I decided to stop. I'm not stupid. Choking on a first date is only acceptable in the bedroom. That was when it happened.


Poor man: Are you finished with that?
Me: Yeah...I'm full.
Poor Man: I'll finish it.


He then picked up my plate, exchanged it with his own and proceeded to eat the rest of my breakfast.

I was a little speechless, but hey...I wasn't eating it. He doesn't belive in waste. I won't judge. Just observe.

After our brunch, we walked to the flower market, where he did a really sweet thing, by purchasing me a small ivy vine to put in my window. He then walked me to my door, he gave me a nice kiss on the cheek and asked if we could see each other again.

Now this threw me off. No sex? Isn't that a rule of being a gay man. I manscaped for him and all I'm getting is a peck? No pecker?!?! Wow...I feel...straight.

Tomorrow...The Rich Man date.

Patrick - 2:07 PM -








Monday, June 11, 2007

Statistics

According to the US Census projections:
The total population of Manhattan is 1,593,200.
Assuming 10% of that population is gay, we have 159,320.
Factor out 50% for lesbians, incarcerated, and partnered we have 79,660.
Reduce this group to 1/7, for my age range and we have 11,380.
Reduce the number by people I've already dated and we have 11,352.

I'm going to need to buy more condoms.

Patrick - 1:12 PM -








Friday, June 08, 2007

Justice is Served

Ok...maybe I'm being a prick here, but I really took pleasure in today's court decision.



Good luck Paris Hilton, I'm sure you'll be your cellmate's bitch in no time. Perhaps Martha can give you a few suggestions on how to pass the time?

Patrick - 3:00 PM -








Thursday, June 07, 2007

My Apologies

Dear Mr. Kinda Cute Blond Architect that just moved to NYC a few months ago,

My friend and I met you last night, and sent you a vodka cranberry (which also happens to be my drink of choice). Normally I'm not that aggressive...although people who read this site may think otherwise, and I don't want you to think that I send drinks to most people. You seemed cute and you were alone, so I figured "what the hell"!

Our conversation seemed to flow well, and I did learn that you were an architect that just moved here. That being said, I should tell you that I'm not eating solid food yet. In fact, I'm not consuming much more than 700 calories a day. Additionally I had three vodka cranberries. Therefore, I'd like to say I remember your name, or anything else we may have discussed, but to be honest...not a thing is coming to my mind. I also remember coming over and continuing our conversation with my friend and I, but when we left, I don't remember if I said goodbye to you.

If and when we see each other again (when I get out of rehab), I will likely not remember you. So please don't be offended when I don't say hello.

Sincerely,
Patrick

******



Dear Mexican Buss boy at the restaurant,

I was the drunk guy that got sick in the bathroom. Thankfully, I made it in the toilet...I think. If I missed...I'm sorry.

Thanks for packing up the dinner to take home.

I promise I'll never come back.

Sincerely,
Patrick

******



Dear Cab Driver,

First, thank you for taking me home. If it wasn't for you, I'd have slept on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. I have no clue how you understood where I lived, as I'm sure I slurred my address out.

Additionally, I'd like to apologize for having to make you drive back to the restaurant because my friend forgot his bag. I'm sure that was a pain, having me passed out waiting in the cab, only to declared my love for you. You took it like the professional that you are. Hopefully the rest of your night was just as easy.

Did we pay you?

Sincerely,
Patrick

******



Dear Upper West Side Neighbors,
Those screams you heard last night were not someone getting mugged. It was only me "wooo-hooo"-ing in my drunkenness. Thankfully, that was probably preferred to the sounds of my next door neighbor's loud sex.

I'm sorry that your dogs started to howl with me.

Sincerely,
Patrick

******



Dear Friend who encouraged me to drink with him last night,

When I woke up this morning, I realized that I wasn't alone in my bed. Before looking over to see who it was, I checked that I was still wearing my underwear. Thanks for being a gentleman. You were a gentleman...right?

Sorry I drooled on you in my sleep.

Sincerely,
Patrick

******



Dear liver,

My bad. Don't quit on me.

Sincerely,
Patrick

Patrick - 2:24 PM -








Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Getting My Jewish On.

Growing up part Catholic and mostly Atheist, I never really understood the hold of religion, culture, and parents have on a being. Until I started dating my Ex, a Jewish man with a horrible family secret. Now every goyim who's ever dated a Jew knows what I'm talking about. Eventually, you have to face the Jewish mother and the guilt she can inflict. A litany of attacks that can leave a mere Catholic quivering in the dust of her wake, I learned from the woman. Today, I'm going to try out what I learned.

*****


On Friday last week, Jason called to tell me he'd like me to attend a special event. His birthday was yesterday, and he wanted to have a special dinner with his immediate family and friends. The people who really meant something to him. Of course I planned on attending. In my life, your friends are your real family. Friends are the people who grab your cell phone and stop you from drunk dialing an ex. Friends are the people you turn to when all is lost. Friends are the ones who see you at your lowest and act like it isn't happening to let you save face.

Friends are always there for each other.

Thus, I, along with Jason's closest friends, nay his family, the people who care about him most, went to En Japanese Brasserie to celebrate his turning 27. Because, you only get one chance ever to celebrate a family member's 27th birthday.

I arrived at the restaurant for our 7pm reservation exactly on time, and greeted the birthday boy with a hug. Thankfully, I wasn't the last to arrive. The attendance list was as follows:
The birthday boy.
Me
Jason's Roommate
Jason's Sister
Jason's Boyfriend
Jason's Friend Charles.

Actually, Charles hadn't shown up yet. Jason however insisted that he was probably on the subway, since he wasn't answering his phone and politely asked the hostess to hold our table until he arrived. Jason explained that one of his closest friends would never miss his birthday dinner.

By 7:30, the hostess informed us that we'd have to give up our table if we didn't take our seats, so we sat down and only ordered cocktails while waiting for Charles to arrive. It was apparent that it meant a lot to Jason to have Charles there. In fact, every time the front door of the restaurant opened, Jason would glance to the doorway, only to have that crushed look reappear on his face.

An hour late, Jason finally received a call from Charles. The look on his face was sad enough, but to hear Jason say the words "Charles decided he didn't want to come tonight. He said he had more important things to do." nearly broke our hearts. It was the tear in his eyes that really brought the mood of the table down. We decided to order food immediately...and make the best of a very sad situation. It's a terrible thing to have your closest friends break your heart.

Our first course was to share some tofu. Now had we had our original 6 people at the table, we'd have split 3 orders, giving each of us an appropriate sized appetizer. In this case, with only five of us, it would have been too hard to split the items equally. I volunteered to forgo this item, and we only ordered two tofu appetizers. I sat there in silence, while the other 4 people at what looked like a very tasty treat, which was soft enough that even I could swallow it. I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable with my not eating, so I just stared at Charles' empty plate.



It was during our appetizer course that the light above our table had gone out. We considered asking for another table, but every time our server came over, he would ask if our 6th guest had arrived. This of course would cause an embarrassment at the table, so we decided to just sit in the dark. Alone. Without Charles.

By the end of the evening, things were finally beginning to look better. The dessert provided two surprises. First was ice cream for the entire table, with candles for the birthday to blow out. Jason looked at the dessert and made his wish. "I wish that Charles will find the time out of his busy schedule to possibly have dinner later this week, but only if he really wants to." And Jason blew out the candles. We can only hope that Charles hears this wish, and can take a few minutes out of his day to call him, just to say hello.



Now some of you may not know this, but Jason's boyfriend provided an extra special treat. He knew that Charles loved cupcakes, so he brought 6 of them to the dinner. However lately, Jason's boyfriend has been a little cash poor, so he struggled with the ultimate sacrifice. He went without breakfast or lunch for a week to pay for the cupcakes and his share of the dinner.



The cupcake with the little flower was for Charles, because he knew that Charles liked things floral. Poor Brian. Had Charles shown up, the cost of the meal would have been less...and more manageable for the rest of us. Luckily we all brought our credit cards.

We all said our goodbyes at the end of the meal. I looked at Jason and told him to not feel bad about Charles not showing. He smiled and said "It's OK. I'm just not as important to him as he is to me. At least I still have all of you."

You do Jason. You will always have us. ***wiping a tear from my eye***

Patrick - 12:50 PM -








Monday, June 04, 2007

Warning

If you start power washing your patio on a Sunday morning outside my window, I will post an unflattering picture of you on the Internet!


Patrick - 12:20 PM -








Friday, June 01, 2007

The Business of Pleasure

This year, I made a resolution to take some chances and do 5 things I would never normally do. Those things would not involve drunk dialing an ex 5 times in one evening to tell him not to call me anymore (and if you are said ex reading this...just delete those messages).

Thus, my Wednesday evening was spent at a gay business networking event. I've not mentioned this before, but I hate "networking". The whole concept makes me very uncomfortable. From the initial two minute what do you do speech, to the inevitable business card exchange (which leaves me feeling insecure as my job title and job duties never match), to the follow up that's required post meeting. That being said...I stuck to my resolution and decided to attend.

I should have stayed home.

In the past, the gym, the bars, and your friends were how you met new singles. Hell, I've slept with nearly all of my friend Brian's friends (god bless his Christmas parties). Both it seems as if singles have overused those venues and the pickings have become slim. Singles have become so desperate, we're bringing our quest for domestic bliss into the business world. Looking for a boyfried has taken the same tactics as looking for a job. We're in the business to get pleasured!

Upon arrival at the bar where this event was being held, I was asked if I was single by one of the organizers, a tall and pretty 20 something boi (yes...I hate that spelling as well, but if you had seen the organizer...you would describe him the same). Instantly a name tag with a green dot (to designate my availability) was placed on my chest with my favorite hobby. Usually they put down what you do for a living, but this was more exciting!

Now, I only hate one thing more than business networking. That's going to a bar by myself. It's physically painful. Part of the problem is that being alone in a bar requires that you fit in, look approachable enought to talk to, but not so desperate that you scare people off. To pass the time, I find myself staring at the door, like I'm waiting for my friend to arrive, all the while slamming my drink to pass the time. I hate going to bars alone. In fact...I'd rather go to church.

But this was business networking (read singles mixer) and I was there to meet people, make connections, and find a job that pays me enough that I don't need a second job bartending! So after a first round of vodka and cranberry, I started to talk to people. Everyone seemed pressured to meet a Mr. Right. The man who was going to fill the vacant position of "boyfriend" in their corporation. My first conversation involved a 60 year old gentleman who offered to tongue fuck my ass at the end of the event.

I moved to the outside patio. Even I have some standards.

Under the twilight sky, I spoke to way too many individuals and eventually found two skiers I had skied with over the past season. We spoke for a while and the conversation moved to the "let's go grab dinner" moment. I agreed and we all walked to a local eatery where we sat at at table for 5. I sat at the head of the table, and watched as the four others (two on each side of me) continued conversations. As I listened politely, I noticed chairs being moved closer, hands beginning to be held under the table, and enough flirtation to know where this evening was going for the four other gentlemen. In the span of 20 minutes, I was definitely the fifth wheel on a impromptu double date.

It's times like this that are made for emergency cell phone calls. However in my stupidity, I hadn't charged the phone enough, and didn't have enough power to text message a 911 to anyone I knew. I was trapped in "first date" hell with two sets of newlyweds. Am I happy that these guys found each other? Sure. I wasn't interested in any of them as anything more than friends, and lets face it. NYC can be a dateless and desperate world, but it does make for some awkward silences at a dinner table.

I think thing I'll do that is something I normally wouldn't do is go to a straight networking event. Perhaps at a straight bar. I'm sure I'd have better luck finding business contacts and less pressure to sleep with anyone.

Patrick - 12:18 PM -








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