Trashy, Trashy Tuesday

Remember my entry on The Rules? Matty and the boys have tortured me at length over that entry, but it was true then and it’s true now. Want proof? Let’s talk about Tuesday.

Tuesday evening opened innocently enough at Full Circle. I met Henry and Matty at about 5:15 pm “for a drink.” The specials that night were $4 Jaeger shots and $1.50 Millers, so I grabbed a Miller and sat down with the boys. Matty was drinking coffee (as you will see, he no longer drinks on weeknights) and Henry was enjoying a tumbler of Stoli with a splash of tonic.

Matty has developed some kind of odd fascination with the Full Circle, that’s why we started there. Granted, it has a great jukebox, but the clientele is me in 15 years (old, desperate, drunk) and the decorator seems to have been on crack. The place is like a rough leather bar with a bad 1950s Tiki Kitsch veneer. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I wasn’t in the mood Tuesday night. We packed up after one drink and headed for Changes.

Changes is one of my favorite bars in Seattle. It’s on 45th on the Wallingford side of I-5, nominally in (or more properly at the edge of) the University District. The place is a bit of a dive, but there’s always a few friendly people there eager to chat. A few of my friends from Montana work there, and you throw in free pool and the occasional cute boy from UW, and it’s a fun destination. Plus, on Tuesdays they have beers for $1 and burgers (with fries) for $1.50. Meaning you can get fed and drunk for $10, which makes it even more fun, and the cost makes me feel very bohemian.

Matty, Henry, and I Benzed up to Wallingford and grabbed a table on the patio in back. The bar was full, but the patio only had a couple of people, and Floyd (the owner and head dishwasher) added a heater which warms it up nicely. We grabbed some beers, the boys ordered some burgers. Within 15 minutes, Paul and Curtis showed up. Tim the Bartender wrapped up his shift, and The Other Tim arrived from his previous engagement, making the group complete.

My plan for the evening was to start around 5 pm and hang out until 7ish, and then head home. Home just slightly tipsy by 7:30 for dinner and snuggling with Carlos. I emailed him to that effect, and told everyone when we started that I turned into a pumpkin no later than 7:15. My words were not heeded.

By the time everyone had assembled, Matty was demanding Jell-o shots. Always the dutiful lieutenant, I went to get them but the supply was exhausted. So instead, we got $1 Buttery Nipples. Yum. Unfortunately, they went down way too easily. After a few rounds of shots and a couple more beers, I realized it was 7:30. Announcing my departure, I put on my coat and started saying good-bye. Which was just long enough for Matty to get another beer for me. Never one to leave a full beer orphaned, I started downing it while the crew discussed wrapping up. Which, miraculously, we all agreed on and headed out as I finished my last beer. It was about 8 pm.

Since I drove over, I gave Matty and Henry a ride back to their cars at Full Circle. And since the night had not yet gone completely sideways, Matty said on the way “Let’s stop in at Madison Pub for a nightcap.” Never one to pass up temptation, I silently consigned my evening to the dumpster and headed into the Pub.

Once inside, we settled into our drinks at a table by the dartboards and were quickly joined by Mike Meola (who certainly will not be sleeping with Ben now that he has shingles). At this point the evening becomes fuzzy for me; I really don’t remember what we talked about. I know that I sent Carlos an email from my phone at around 8:30, saying where I was at and that he could meet us, or wait and I would be home “soon.”

After 2 or 3 drinks, we rolled down the hill to Manray. There, we met up with Paul, Curtis, Evil Mark, Woodsy, and some other people. Again, it’s who was there and exactly what happened is little fuzzy. But the highlight at Manray was when I decided Curtis should take off his shirt for some guy standing at the bar. Curtis, the guy, and the mildly concerned bartender tolerated this for a bit, but quickly nipped it in the bud, and this time without fisticuffs. Deciding that was my cue, I said my good-byes and headed home to the slightly cranky boyfriend. Turned out Carlos didn’t get any of my emails (he couldn’t log into his account) so he just made dinner and sat around waiting for me and then went to bed. Oops.

Night of the Living Dead

Apparently it’s “Blast From the Past” time in my life. Last night I got all worked up over my ex, a guy who dumped me about a year ago. Well, actually, it was almost exactly a year ago yesterday. I hadn’t noticed the anniversary, but apparently the ol’ subconscious did, because it resurrected a wave of nice memories and a whole bunch of melancholy over a guy that I thought was firmly buried in my past.

The details are inconsequential: we’ve all been kicked in the chest by the Clydesdale of love (ok, the metaphor is over-wrought but I really like it) and the effect is the same for each of us. I was a mess for months (really, worse than I am now) and I worked really hard to get over it. There’s nothing more pitiful than some sad sack moping around, hoping the dumb jerk that dumped him will come crawling back. My friends put up with it, and were kind enough to give me a sympathetic ear and a little tough love. And earning my eternal gratitude, James and Matthew submitted a very viable, entirely legal plan for destroying his life (here’s a little tip: dig your own grave before you truly cross the two of them. Seriously.). Regretfully, I had to turn down the offer. Instead, I dated some guys, drank some beer, and got over it the way they say us big kids should. I even found a new boyfriend who’s young, cute, and wildly affectionate. It's the best revenge.

My bit of nocturnal nostalgia wouldn’t be noteworthy except that today, right after lunch, the ex’s best friend emailed me. It was a relatively impersonal email, but still I hadn’t heard a peep from this guy in nearly a year. The coincidence is a little weird. Why now, at or near the anniversary (frankly, I’m refusing to look back and see exactly what day the big dump happened), when it’s already at the top of my mind? I really just want a pass on the whole thing. Let the dead bodies lie where they’ve been buried (that’s a metaphor, kids) instead of climbing out of my psyche to chase me around like some gay-dating version of Night of the Living Dead. It’s not fair, I deserve to be over it!

And, I think JPK called me caustic. That hurts. I’d make up something mean about him in response, but I think a blog entry that tells nothing but the truth would be more fun. Anyone have any input? Or his ex Ben’s contact info?

Dear Gentle Reader,

I’ve been neglecting the blog lately, but it’s not from a lack of interest. After a month-plus of congestion and general malaise, I got truly sick last week and finally went to the doctor on Monday. Turns out I have pneumonia. It’s not real serious as these things go, and it’s also not much of a surprise given that I spend a large portion of my time drinking in smoky bars. Thank God for antibiotics or I might be forced to change my ways.

Nonetheless, you’ll notice that I finally wrapped up the story of New Year’s. I’m rededicating myself to daily updates, even if it means staying after work and (gasp!) missing 30 minutes of happy hour. So don’t despair, Gentle Reader, I am still committed to drinking heavily and recording (or fabricating, when necessary) all the humiliating and titillating things my friends and I do. Well, until the whole Ponzi scheme collapses and I have to move back to Montana and write my book in my parents’ garden shed. See you in the blog-o-sphere!

Desperate Houseboi

I wasn’t optimistic about New Year’s Eve. The plan was to go to Matty’s party until 11 pm, and then meet Carlos at Steve and Hector’s for the midnight kiss and glass of champagne. It was a perfectly good plan, which meant that it would go sideways at the drop of a hat. I got to Matty’s party at 8:30, and it was already in full swing. The Denver Fillies were all dolled up for some serious boy-chasing, and Paul, Curtis, Henry, Adam, LA Carlos, Tim, and Doug were busy putting a solid dent in the champagne. It wasn’t long and Woodsy showed up, then Mark and Todd, and finally Ben (and let me remind you, Mike Meola INSISTS he did not have sex with Ben that one time) appeared with a posse. Ben was good enough to ask beforehand if he could bring randoms. Unfortunately they were of the sort who run for the liquor and then stand in a circle and won’t speak to anyone. God knows why people do that. They were from Portland, maybe they were shy.

Meanwhile, the Fillies were getting good and liquored up. Mike actually managed to lose his balance while setting down his glass, and nearly too a header into the dogfood. Steve told us all about his 9 mm Glock, and Dan reiterated his devotion to bottoming. LA Carlos was in the living room making nice with Woodsy, and everyone else was just standing around chatting. I made a loop thru the kitchen for another beer, then joined Matty in the living room. He asked where Carlos was. And things went down hill from there.

People think that Matty and I don’t fight. For the most part they’re right; Matty and I tend to agree on things, or at least I can see his point of view. But he had begun to break away from reality on the Carlos issue, and we’d been sparring over that all week. Earlier, I had told him Carlos wasn’t coming to his party, and now I explained that I was leaving before midnight to go to Steve and Hector’s to watch the fireworks and give Carlos a big kiss at midnight. That plan didn’t go over so well. In fact, we ended up in a rather nasty snarling match in front of everyone in the living room. Oops. Well, no homos were harmed in the process (at least not physically) but I did notice a few surprised looks. We left it at a draw and I said a final round of good-byes before heading over to Steve and Hector’s.

Afterwards I wish I’d stayed. Apparently, Woodsy and LA Carlos got busy in the hot tub (Woodsy insists that they did not “have sex,” but neither did Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky) while Henry hooked up with Dan in Adam’s bed (Henry disputes that as well, but not very strongly). The Fillies also appeared at Timberline dancing on the speakers, but I’m not sure if that came before or after the romp in Adam’s room. All told, it was quite a night.

The next day everyone returned to Denver or LA or wherever they had come from. Those of us that live here spent the day drinking at CC’s and Madison Pub and wherever else they wouldn’t throw us out (LA Carlos and the Denver Fillies joined us for a couple at CC’s before their flights, but left after only a couple because they’re WEAK). And all told, after all his trouble, the only nookie Adam got was a little dry humping from LA Carlos in the back of Henry’s car. Last I heard, Adam is checking to see if Terrell Owens is free on Monday night.

A Little Housekeeping

First, my entry outlining The Rules wasn’t an announcement that I’m withdrawing from society. I just had a rough night and was feeling bitter. Like Bob Hope, my social life will survive many, many reports that it’s died. No, I can’t get drunk and chase boys 7 nights a week. Now that I have a boyfriend, I can only do it 5 nights a week. And all day on the weekends. Yes, I know it hurts everyone to miss seeing me even one day. I’m sorry, life is a vale of tears. Have another drink.

Second, for those that are interested, Adam is not my new whipping boy. JPK still has that honor, and I’ve been gearing up for a major JPK smack-down for awhile now. But Adam is fun to pick on, he gets appropriately worked up over stuff, and I like to see him ball up his little fists and scrunch up his eyes and get all red. It’s fun. It’s cute. It makes me wish I was about 17 and had a 10 year old brother I could give swirlies.

That’s it, just wanted to answer a couple of nagging questions that had come up. And yes, the final installment of the LA Carlos and Denver Fillies trilogy will be up soon. In the meantime, I dug up this news article that features a quote from Paul when he was only 14 and still was trying to be straight:

“One of the boys, a 14-year-old whose name cannot be revealed because of his age, had no qualms to speak about the incident. ‘I feel very happy after masturbating next to a woman with beautiful legs and wearing see-through clothes,’ the boy said. ‘There is no girl out there who wants a filthy glue-sniffing street kid, so the only way to relieve our sexual appetite is to masturbate,’ he explained.”

He’s gone downhill considerably since then.

The Rules

I’ve decided to articulate The Rules. These are not rules for you, they’re rules for me to follow when dealing with an invitation to “Go for a drink.” What I should do is have these rules tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, but I doubt I could pull that together. So I’m gonna write them in the blog, maybe print them out, and review them as a guideline and a warning whenever I get that dreaded “Let’s have a drink after work” email. Here goes:

1. “Get a drink” means get drunk. Whatever they may say to the contraty, my friends like to drink, and I have no willpower. None whatsoever. And if I did, I have very little common sense to back it up. “Get a drink” means 15 drinks and a taxi ride home at 2 AM.

2. “Get a drink” means drinking for at least 3 hours. Not one second less. And it doesn’t mean have soda water, or drink a glass of water every second beer. It means drinking steadily for at least 3 hours no matter how it impacts other commitments.

3. If you “get a drink” it means you will not get home in time to make dinner, as you promised. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to reach your boyfriend and apologize while offering to pick up takeout on the way home. But that nice dinner you promised to cook just won’t happen, and you won’t want to eat the takeout you pick up.

4. You can “get a drink” or you can do other things. But if you “get a drink” it will take up your entire evening. The whole evening. You will be useless for anything more involved than passing out in front of the TV, or maybe making a slurring apology to your boyfriend. And you’ll be lucky if you’re home before midnight to do that.

5. If you “get a drink” your entire next day will be shot. You will have difficulty getting out of bed, your mind will be fuzzy at work, you won’t be productive, and you’ll have baseless anxiety attacks until mid-afternoon when the desire to “get a drink” returns to replace the desire to “get a psych eval.”

6. If you “get a drink” then you will want more when you get home. This will involve picking some up, scrounging something nasty out of the back of the liquor cabinet, or the totally humiliating option of slurringly demanding the boyfriend walk to the store. Why will you be out? Because that’s how it works.

7. If you “get a drink” you will hate yourself. And not Princess-Di-bulimia-hate-yourself, but full-blown self-loathing like if Hitler had discovered he was a gay-jewish-communist-gypsy. A burning, searing hate that boils like hot bile out of the depths of your quaking stomach and percolates up to your brain to gnaw at the ends of your raw, exposed nerves. It’s not fun.

8. If you “get a drink” tonight, you’ll want to “get a drink” tomorrow night despite how awful today was. If you don’t “get a drink” tonight you’ll want to “get a drink” less tomorrow night. It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is.

9. If you have to decide between staying home and throwing off a cold, or going out to “get a drink,” you should stay home. The cold will get worse, and you will probably have to stay home tomorrow, and maybe the next day as well. Your absenteeism has been gaining attention. That’s not the kind of attention you want.

10. If you “get a drink” you will suffer far more than your friends. For the most part, they are young and have functional livers. Or they are old and don’t have much to lose. You are in between: too old to be this stupid, too young for it to finish you off tonight. They will bitch and moan, but they will have fun without you. You can go home and save yourself. Do it, just this once.

And I could go on and on in that vein, but you get the idea. Wednesday was an entirely boring, typical night of having a few beers at CC’s and then the Full Circle, but it hit me hard. I promised to make dinner for Carlos, and didn't. I promised myself I'd rest and I didn't. I now have a cold, and had to take yesterday off. And no, I didn’t finish the story of New Years but it’s on its way.

One Night at R Place

By Wednesday night, as you can imagine, Adam was in a tizzy. LA Carlos and the Denver Fillies were on their way, New Years was around the corner, and everyone’s favorite Houseboi was gonna get some or know the reason why. Apparently LA Carlos was the principal object of his desire, but any of the Fillies would have done the trick (so to speak). Our cherubic little Adam called me Wednesday afternoon, all in a lather, because he’d realized there wasn’t enough bedding for his guests. Stifling a smart-ass comment, I promised to run some blankets and pillows to the house that evening while I ran errands. I dutifully dropped off the bedding, then stopped by Changes for a beer or 5 before heading home. It was karaoke; there were a number of good singers, and a stunning blond college boy (there with his girlfriend) that I just had to watch sing “Sweet Child of Mine.” Seth was even working and we got to chat a bit, it was fun.

For me, Thursday was spent trying to work while I had a nasty email battle with Matty. I worked late, had dinner with Carlos, and then went to Manray to meet Matty and his friend Patrick from DC. Patrick had grown up in Seattle, and I met him last year when he came to visit his family for the holidays. Despite the battle with Matthew I wanted to hang out with Patrick again, so I headed off to Manray while Carlos went home to watch Amor Real. Matty and Patrick rolled into Manray at about 10 pm, and shortly thereafter Adam appeared and introduced the import posse.

LA Carlos was mid-twenties, skinny, latino, and preppy but with a military style haircut. A little skinnier than Adam usually goes for, but he makes up for that by owning a broad array of Lacoste polo shirts (Lacoste is a major weakness for Adam). I suspect Adam would like some kind of relationship with LA Carlos, but there are a couple of major drawbacks: his location and his apparent lack of income. Still, LA Carlos has kept Adam intrigued long-distance for almost a year, and got himself up to Seattle for New Years, and those are no mean feats.

The Denver Fillies were all late 20s or early 30s. Steve had dark blond, spiky gelled hair and was about 6 feet tall. Dan and Mike (Mike complimented me extensively on the blog, which earns him gentle treatment that is rarely given to anyone) were both over 6 feet. Mike was a little dressier, Dan a little more A&F (backwards ballcap and everything), but basically nice, regular guys in town for (ahem) a good time. And boy did they (more on that later). Steve had a situation of his own: a boyfriend of sorts back in Denver that had him humming Semper Fidelis (the boyffriend isn’t a Marine, Steve was just trying to be good) all weekend. And except for that one time with that one boy, he was good (more on that later too).

After complimenting me on the blog, Mike planted a big, long, deep, wet kiss on Adam to make sure he did SOMETHING worthy of a blog mention. With the whole weekend ahead of him, I knew Mike would appear a few times in the blog, but there’s substitute for making sure. I don’t know what the boys were doing before Manray, but Adam was grinning and stumbling around like someone had just beaten him with the Goofy Stick. We chatted a little and had some beers, then transitioned over to R Place.

Thursday night is the amateur strip show at R Place, and it was predictably packed. After squeezing past the bar, I made my way to the cash machine and the coat check. And who do I run into but Chad Ballentine! I have seen Chad once or twice since he got married and moved to Issaquah. That’s typical for him: he finds a boy, settles down, and isn't heard from until they break up. He was out with his cute boyfriend Matt, but was very flirty (really I think more drunk and missing me that seriously flirting) so I had to ask if they were still together. Of course they are, and were on their way to the car for the long drive home (Matt was the designated driver). While we were chatting, this completely adorable boy went by us on his way to the cash machine and then again heading upstairs. Chad being drunker, cuter, and bolder than I, grabbed the kid and found out he’s named Matt (I think) and was going to be in the strip show. Sadly, Chad and his husband Matt had to leave and miss it, but I resolved there and then to stay as late as necessary and see what the kid had under his baggy t-shirt and jeans.

After Chad and husband left, I went upstairs to join Matty, Patrick, Adam, LA Carlos, Mike, Dan, Steve (the Fillies), and Ben (remember, Mike Meola says he didn’t have sex that one night with Ben). Dan bought Ben and I a round, and we made our way over by the strippers. They were just getting started, and were definitely a mixed bag. The first one or two was less than memorable, but then this smokin’ Asian kid got up there and starting taking it off. Ben’s a major rice queen, and I like Asians myself, so in unison we pushed our way up front and started waving $5 bills at the kid while he took off his pants and danced around in his tighty-whiteys. The bouncer didn’t like that at all (the puritans running Seattle have serious issues with strippers, alcohol, and distance) but we managed to give the kid our money when he was done.

And next up was the little guy I’d met briefly downstairs. He was Italian-looking, about 5 feet tall with dark hair, and was young, smooth, and lean under those baggy clothes. Apparently he had won the week before, and I could see why. He actually hung sideways off the stripper pole and shook his ass at the crowd (not particularly original, but always welcome). I waved another $5 at him, but the boy ignored me as clearly too much of a drunken mess for any encouragement. After he finished and gathered up his clothes, Ben and I returned to our group at the back of the bar.

At this point I was winding down, and people were beginning to disperse, so I said my goodbyes to the boys and Adam’s import posse and headed home. With a detour to the Eagle, where I ran into my friend Tony. We ended up texting, and then he came by to talk for nearly an hour about his new relationship. Carlos was a little curious why I came in and left again to talk to Tony, but he didn’t seem to worried since he’d met Tony and his boyfriend before. Finally, around 2:30 am I crawled into bed and tried to get enough sleep to get through New Year’s Eve. And if I'd known in advance what New Year's Eve would be like, I would have slept right through it. More on all that next time.

LA Carlos and the Denver Phillies

Thanks to the chaos of the holidays, I had to take a break from the blog. I just couldn’t seem to pull it together after Thanksgiving, with all the present-shopping and party-going, and enough Alpines to melt the Matterhorn. So those of you waiting for the rest of the Thanksgiving story, the short version is that we drank $800 worth of champagne, then I had a nasty histamine reaction and was nicknamed “Blotchy, the Thanksgiving Elf.” After a LOT of “Blotchy” jokes, several of us went to Neighbors and some of us drank enough shots that they (I have been forbidden to name names this once) could not figure out how to get home until noon the next day. And the weekend went downhill from there. You’ll note that my caring, concerned friends fell all over themselves laughing when I turned a blotchy cranberry color and got all puffy. Thanks guys, I hope I’m present if any of you ever gets SHOT. No, I mean it, I really really hope I'm there.

Anyway, after all that Christmas was low-key: Carlos and I slept in, and I made my version of a traditional English beef dinner (roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, whipped potatoes). This was all stuff my English grandmother used to make (she died last April), so cooking her recipes and using her serving dishes for Christmas dinner was a nice way to remember Christmas at her house. Carlos liked it (who doesn’t like a roast that costs $20 a pound?) and even braved the Yorkshire pudding. Two pieces, without adding salsa, he’s braver than most people. I played with his toys (I got him a nice pen with a built-in pocket knife, a radio controlled Cooper Mini, and the obligatory bauble from Tiffany) while he napped and watched Amor Real. Later, his friends came over and we all went to Gallerias to drink Coronas and do the Cha-cha. It was a satisfying Christmas.

Of course, peace on Earth and goodwill towards men could not possibly last, and thus we come to New Years. Matty and Carlos had had a bit of a spat early in the week, and Carlos decided he wasn’t comfortable going to Matty’s party. Which left me to either hang out with Carlos (pissing off Matty), hang out with Matty (pissing off Carlos), or split the evening and piss them both off. Of course, I have no sense whatsoever, so I decided to split the evening. With a planned post-midnight run to Marc and Walter’s so that I could make it to as many parties as possible. Yet another brilliant plan.

Meanwhile, Adam was busy importing friends to hang out with. From LA he brought Carlos (known henceforth as LA Carlos), and from Denver he brought Mike, Dan, and Steve (collectively, the Denver Fillies). LA Carlos was Adam’s little friend/hanger-on/tease during the time he was in LA helping set up Matty’s new store. It’s been nearly a year, but LA Carlos started texting while Matty, Adam, and I were out drinking last Sunday, and by Wednesday Adam had him up here. Adam insists that he didn’t pay for LA Carlos to fly up, but we’ll file that one in the Dubious Statements Hall of Fame along with “I did not have sex with that woman” and “The Patriot Act is protecting civil liberties.” Adam wasn’t willing to clarify how he knows the Denver Fillies, but he did spend a summer in Grand Junction with an internet connection and no gay bar. I think we all can do the math.

Anyway, LA Carlos and the Fillies planned to crash at Casa del Matty. Matty’s house is good-sized, but not set up for sleepovers (outside Matty’s scary, king-size jungle-lovin’ bed) so I was curious how the sleeping arrangements would shake out. Adam has a twin-size bed, and otherwise there’s lots of floor, a rock-hard sectional, and a Van der Rohe daybed covered in covered buttons. I figured that: 1) Adam would get some, 2) Matty would get some, 3) both would get some, or 4) Adam would be shuttling all the Fillies and LA Carlos back to Matty’s every morning. As usual, the way things played out was a good deal more interesting than I guessed. Which I will cover in the next couple of installments.