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, January 30, 2008

Commonalities

This past Saturday, I had a date...with two different guys...simultaneously. An investment banker and an anesthesologist.

Sunday, I had two more dates, at two different times in the day, with two men. A financial consultant and an artist.

Tonight, I have two dates, with two additional guys, one at 7 and one at 10. A professor and a computer programmer.

Tomorrow, I've got evening plans with another guy. An architect. 7 guys in one week?

Should I invite them all to my birthday dinner next month and see if they can figure out what they have in common?

Patrick - 1:42 PM -

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Poltergeist

A year ago, my apartment looked like this:

Isn't it pretty? So neat and organized? It may be small, but nearly everything has it's place in my apartment. Yet I knew things would be a bit chaotic when I brought he rest of my belongings from Cleveland.

Thus, last Tuesday, my apartment looked like this:

Fuck

Yet I've been working diligently to get everything put away. I will have a home...somewhere under those books. Most importantly, I finally have a desk in my window area, so that I can sit and type. I need a work space that allows for minimal distraction. Currently my laptop sits on my lap, as I face the television. That may work when cruising online for sex, but when actually looking to type an email, or work on the play that's half written on my computer, you need a work space.

However, I didn't have a chair. Until last night. My neighbor is moving, and she decided to trash her office chair. A beautiful black leather monstrosity on wheels. She put it out to the trash area of the building, and I waited until she was out of site to actually pilfer it.

I'll admit it...I felt a little embarrassed and dirty, going through the trash to get the chair out, but damnit...I'm poor! Thus, I wheeled the thing into my house, and put it up to my desk. The chair sits a little high, and I can barely touch the floor when I sit in it, but it seemed to be perfect.

Last night I used the chair for the first time. I opened the laptop and turned on the power. Sat down in my chair, leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them...I was in my kitchen. Thinking that I must have pushed off while leaning back, I moved the chair back to the desk. As soon as I let go...it traveled on its own back into the kitchen. Remember in the movie Poltergeist when the chair slides from one spot in the kitchen across the room?

Either I have a ghost living in my place (like Tunagirl's ghost in the Cape house), or a really uneven floor, but either way I can't use my new found desk chair, as I can't stop it from traveling into the kitchen.

The positive...I can sit while I cook.

Patrick - 11:05 AM -

Friday, January 25, 2008

Strangers on a Train

In my never ending quest to find a husband, and due to the fact that I feel like I’ve already met a majority of the single men in New York City, I realized that it may be time to shake things up and try something different. Sex may be easy to find in the concrete jungle (if you’re gay and aren’t getting any…call me…I can help), but finding romance and love, well it just isn’t pretty. It’s a man eat man world, and I’m hungry! I decided new scenery and city was what I needed…although my bank account didn’t agree. So rather than taking a plane to the Midwest, I took a train. Seriously…what’s more romantic than a cross country train ride?

Ok…I’m totally bullshitting here. I had stored some personal belongings at a friends place in Cleveland before moving to New York, and since they had sold their home, I needed to go to the “Mistake on the Lake” to get my things. At nearly a $400 plane ticket, plus U-Haul prices, the only affordable option was a bus or train, and since the idea of a train trip across country still sounded romantic, I went for it. Club cars, cocktails on the moving rails, booty calls in the bathroom…I’m all for it.

I booked my trip one week before I was supposed to leave, using the Amtrak website. Fairly easy, I had two options for my one way trip. At a cost of $52, I could travel to Washington DC, wait 5 hours and then leave DC and arrive at Cleveland Ohio at 2:30 in the morning. Otherwise I could pay $81 and travel on a train direct from Penn Station in NYC to Cleveland, landing there at a very late (or early…depending on how you look at it) 3:30 am. A-M…as in Ass Mine…Bite it! I debated once again flying, but while looking at my bank balance I purchased my ticket…all the while concentrating on that “club car” romance I would be having. Somewhere out there…was that stranger on a train.

I arrived at Penn station to the usual chaos that it is. Between the school kids hanging out by the donut place, the regular LIRR and NJ Transit commuters, I battled my way to stand before a very large board that tells you which gate you will need to be at for the boarding of the train. Except Amtrak never tells you which gate until 10 minutes before boarding, thus a mass of people stare at this board, looking all Orwell’s 1984, waiting to see where they go. My train, #49, the Lakeshore Limited, was announced to be boarding at Gate 8 West.

Now brace yourselves…the train left ON TIME!!! I was actually shocked! When taking that train to Boston, it’s always been late. As we quickly traveled North through Manhattan and along the Hudson River, I was able to watch the sun setting in the West. Amtrak would like you to know that on this particular trip, you will be able to see the lovely Finger Lakes area of upstate New York, before traveling along the scenic coast of Lake Erie. What Amtrak will not tell you is that it will be night time, pitch dark outside, and the only thing you will see for the next twelve hours is your reflection in the glass window! I may modestly handsome…but even I can get tired of looking at my own face.

It was time to find my next true love in the club car. I pictured him sitting in a leather seat, drinking a drink, nicely dressed and ready to engage me in wonderful conversation. Perhaps jazz music would be playing as he’d ask me to join him for dinner at his table…which of course I would accept. I opened the door to the dining car expecting to see a somewhat upscale restaurant and was greeted with something that resembled a moving McDonald’s! Plastic table clothes covered the tables and florescent lighting glared down at you. Has Amtrak ever heard of a dimmer switch? I was placed at a table with four other complete strangers, and given a very small menu to look over.

The menu is basic with a choice of deep fried wings, cheese, fries, and onion rings vs. microwave heated burgers and salmon! Yes…salmon. If I can pass any wisdom from my experience to you it would be this. DON’T EAT THE SALMON! I’ve tasted leather boots that had more flavor and were ironically more tender.

My table consisting of three strangers and myself gave our drink orders. Diet coke, diet coke, herbal tea, and a martini. One look at my other reviews will tell you what I was having. I’m not saying I’m an alcoholic…but for a 12 hour train ride, something had to get me through this, and the three people at my table were not helping.

Back at my seat, I sat down to hear the woman in the next aisle discussing with her seatmate about how she had found Jesus in the last year. I honestly didn’t know he was lost. Doesn’t he just hang out in Catholic churches? I could sense her impending proselytizing, and decided it was best to insure that the seat next to me remained empty.

Men: If you want to keep the seat next to you empty on any public transportation, I have one word for you. Porn. It’s sold in nearly every airport and train station bookstore, and all you need to do is flip through that baby and you are going to be left alone! In my case, I wanted extra insurance, so I put a porn DVD in my laptop and popped the headphones in the ears while watching. I stretched my legs onto the seat next to me, as my fellow passengers stared at me with horrified faces.

Around 2:20 in the morning, the train conductor announced that we had to make an emergency stop because of a sick passenger. The train stopped, and 3 paramedics bolted to the back of the car, where the frail old lady had been sitting. She wasn’t sitting anymore. She was sort of slumped over, and after working about 10 minutes on the poor woman, they put her on a stretcher and wheeled her off the train…with her face covered. The woman died on the train, and sadly the only thing I could think was “My god…I guess she had the salmon.”

Next time…I’m taking the plane.

Patrick - 12:15 PM -

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Seeing Green

Since I've moved into my apartment, I've really done nothing to make it my home. I have no furniture, and up until 6 weeks ago, I didn't even have a bed. My apartment was basically my shoebox that I used as shelter from the cold...which oddly enough wasn't that good as the landlord shuts the heat off daily.

This year I decided to make some changes. I want my place to be more a home and less a prison cell, so I decided I'd take some steps. When I signed my lease in December, I decided I'd do one thing a month to make the place more like a place I'd want to be.

My thing for January was to paint the entrance hallway. This 10 foot long and 31 inches wide area was the easiest starting point. And paint is the cheapest change you can do to your home.

I arrived at the paint store with a particular shade in mind. I wanted chartreuse, which would go well with the wood flooring and the wooden closet doors, as well as the frames of two prints I have framed in the hallway. However paint stores don't name their chips chartreuse. They name their chips Green Grape, and Pear Green. What the hell...it took me nearly 30 minutes to pick out a paint chip that I liked.

I took the chip to the counter and asked the guy to mix me a can of paint with the chip number 2028-10. He mixed the recipe, and sold me a gallon. $54.95 was the cheapest paint he had. That's more than I paid for my chair! But I bought the can, along with a brush, roller, and roller tray.

Getting home, I opened my can (the paint can that is) and proceeded to paint the hallway. The green seemed a bit bright, but most paint is lighter when it's wet. As it dried...it just got more intense. To the point where something didn't seem right. I compared the wall to my paint chip.

The paint store mixed the paint incorrectly, and I now have lime green walls.

I'm sensing a can of white paint for my February job.

Patrick - 1:59 PM -

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Any Doctors in the House?

After living in this city for nearly two years, I finally found a doctor! This may seem an odd statement, but I'm picky when it comes to doctors. I'd prefer my doctor to be a gay male. One who isn't going to judge, and doesn't blink an eye when I bring up some of the issues that gay men experience that straight people don't go through. It took two years, battling insurance companies, and finally getting a referral from my gay gastroenterologist to find a doctor I could work with.

Thankfully, I found this doctor, as I woke up Jan 1st with a head cold. Happy new year...blah...blah...blah, I woke up feeling sorry for myself and took some Tylenol, hoping that a few minutes in the shower would help sooth my sore throat. Post shower, I was back in bed, drinking hot tea, listening to the radio and contemplating when I should schedule a doctor's appointment, when I received a telephone call from my FFB.

Now some people have BFF (Best Friends Forever), some have EX's, some have a BF (Boy Friend)...me? I have a Former Fuck Buddy (FFB), who I've nicknamed "architect boy". We haven't spoken to each other in a while (at least 8 months) and I figured he was just calling to see what I was up to.

"Happy New Year!" He exclaimed.
"Ughh..." I sniffed.
"I was thinking of you today. I'm going to be in your neighborhood...".

I was really not in the mood to have him come over, let alone we've ended the "Friends with Benefits" actions back before the summer began. And then he surprised me.

"I'm going to a party and thought you might want to come with me. I submitted your picture and they were interested in meeting you." Now I can be dense at times, but I fully knew that this "party" was a sex party (I just can't bring myself to say orgy...It sounds too 70's). The thing is...I'm not that innocent...but still have some uncharted territory, and my resolution for last year was to try 12 new things. This would have qualified.

I pondered if I should accept the invitation and was about to decline when Architect Boy asked a question.
"Don't you want to see the inside of the (Famous building on Central Park West)?"

I shocked myself and said "yes".

He agreed to meet me at my apartment and we'd walk to the party together. At this point I realized how neurotic I can be. I changed outfits 4 times, trying to find the perfect ensemble for a sex party...when in all reality most clothing items are just left at the door. But I wanted to make a first impression!

We arrived at the door, and identified ourselves to the doorman, who muttered something under his breath, not realizing that I could still hear him. Apparently he knew what kind of party the residents were having. I felt his eyes of judgement (slut) as I got onto the elevator and we rode up to the apartment.

The door opened and we entered what cold only be described as a labyrinth of an apartment. Seriously...with an apartment valued at $3500 a square foot (Thanks Google!), I was amazed at the size of it. The living room, television room, and anywhere else a television was, porno was playing for viewing audiences. What guy is watching the porn at a sex party? Isn't that what the "live" factor is all about. Wandering the apartment were around 40 guys.

One of our two hosts of the party gave us a short tour of the apartment (kitchen, bathroom, living room, dining room, and here's the master bedroom) where he offered to take our pants and hang them up. I entered the room with my friend and my jaw hit the floor. There, on the bed, was my gay physician getting what can be described as his gag reflex checked. He's the other owner of the apartment.

Today I've decided...I think I need to find a nice lesbian physician. A nice virginal lesbian...with a wicked sense of humor.

Patrick - 10:16 AM -