New Year's Eve...Eve?

Let's start this post with me telling you what rabbit hole I have jumped into this evening as I write. I am prone to finding a musical artist, YouTube performer, Twitter tweeter, or Facebook enthusiast and really becoming obsessed with them. I mean, I have read Twitter feeds like they were novellas, feeling like they have become good friends of mine. I've watched a YouTuber's entire videography, and I have listened to many musical performers entire discography. (Thank little baby Jesus for Spotify — the musical artist piece used to be REALLY expensive. Woof.) 

I start to champion for these people in my daily conversations, telling everyone about how funny or talented they are. I find myself trying to figure out how to bring them up in conversation without it being too weird. I obsessively check to see if they have made any updates, wanting a good chuckle or a new song. These obsessions last anywhere for a week to six months, depending on the feedback I get from my peers. (Obviously, I can't like things unless everyone also likes them — what is this 1954?? Not sure why I chose 1954... shhh... just go with it.)

Right now, in this moment, my current obsession happens to be the one, the only... Ashlee Simpson!

(Too many gifs to choose from, too little time.)

So, what does this have to do with you? Absolutely nothing. It means that I am currently writing this while listening to every song Ashlee has ever blessed us with. I also didn't want this to be the only one to know this. I can die in peace now. 

Judgey Reader: What the hell? I am really confused. 

Me: Um, I am not really sure what is confusing, this seems really straightforward...

Judgey Reader: But, what does this have to do with anything? I came here looking for a story. 

Me: OH! OK! SO ALL I AM GOOD FOR IS A STORY? I can't shaaaare with you something that happens to be on my mind??

Judgey Reader: That's not what I am saying, I was just... I don't know. I came here because you told me you would post on Wednesdays. 

Me: And here I am, posting on a Wednesday, and somehow that's not good enough for you. You're really full of it. Thanks for making a guy feel special. 

Judgey Reader: I don't mean to be rude, but does this mean I don't get a story?

Me: Well, to be honest, I thought about not telling you a story, but Ashlee Simpson happens to be inspiring me. So, you know, thank her. 

(This is how I feel after you guys and I sometimes have fights that I make up. I feel like singing about you knowing me. Too well.)

OK, OK, now it's time to tell you all a little diddy about my last couple of days of 2013. In a random turn of events, I decided that I wanted to change up my NYE plans a little bit. I have never been one for the bar scene on that night (shocking, I know), so I have always done it up big at a house party in Baltimore. It is literally the perfect combination of cheap libations, yummy food, and amazing friends. So, what could pull me away from the trifecta from heaven? New. York. City.

(Not even close to the gif I wanted, but it's so accurate. Well done, Karen. Well done.)

While NYE 2014 was a blast and a half, it was actually New Year's Eve Eve that ended up being a ridiculously amazing night. I had arrived in NY on the 27th to travel around Long Island to see family and celebrate some holiday. (JUST KIDDING! WE CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS!) Mama and Papa Fab were kind enough to bring me into the city and enjoy several mimosas over brunch with one of my fav gal pals, Swifty! (No, no, I don't feel good about saying gal pal.)

The next day, Swifty and I headed to our NY office to spend the day casually answering emails and pretending to work. We were torn about what to do with the eve eve of the New Year. The impending "biggest party of the year" was daunting and persuading us to try and have a calmer evening. On top of all of that, Glitter, our other BFFL and my fellow companion of all things bright and shiny, wasn't able to come into the city until the next day. 

While mulling over our options, out of left field, Broadway, my obnoxiously talented, obnoxiously younger, obnoxiously skinnier gay BFFL, came over and requested we do a bar crawl on Christopher Street. For those who don't know, that is quite possibly one of the gayest streets in the world. There is only one way to explain how I felt about this, and I must do it with a photo. 

(Annnnnd, he's back.) 

After a battle royale with Swifty about going back uptown to drop off bags and have dinner, I finally won. Because duh. We went back uptown, consumed Dominos (don't ask), drank a couple Red Bull-vodkas (affectionately named RBVs... as affectionate as you can be about alcohol), and made our way back down to Pieces for $3 drinks and to wait for Broadway. On this fine evening, Pieces had a drag queen throwing shade while watching a movie — surprisingly entertaining and the perfect way to get liquored up before heading to our next bar. 

Broadway has a notoriously low tolerance and is one of my favorite people with which to consume adult beverages. He also knows these bars like the back of his hand, so it made this bar crawl all the more fun. He kept saying that there was a bar he had to take me to, but first we went over to the iconic Stonewall Inn. Unfortunately for us, Stonewall was having a weird drag bingo night and was not on our level of ridiculousness. So, we took a shot, like one should before leaving a bar, and moved onto the next homo hang out. 

At this point Swifty, Broadway, and I had had... a couple beverages. We were loving life, loving each other, and loving everyone around us. Broadway started talking about how much he needed to sing Suddenly Seymour at some point in the evening. Because theatre homo. He still had to take me to this other bar that was perfect for me before we went somewhere where he could sing, but first he we needed to hit up a couple more places. We ended up heading over to Boots & Saddle, a little hole-in-the-wall gay bar on Christopher Street. When we walked in the door, we were met with a beautiful drag queen (notice a theme...) who was lip-syncing for her life on stage. Broadway and I lost it when she started singing "Brave" by the flawless Sara Bareilles.

                                 

Before long, it was time to move onto the next stop on our rainbow bar crawl. It was finally time for Broadway to take me to the bar that was "perfect" for me. As we approached the outside of The Hanger, Broadway got more and more excited, hyping it up. As soon as we walked in, Broadway said, "THIS IS FOR YOU!" I made the very astute observation that this happened to be a predominantly black gay bar. Heaven. 

 

(But, actually.)

I was surrounded by all of these beautiful men, and I had all of the liquid confidence in the world. I didn't even need another beverage. Broadway was so unbelievably right — this bar was perfect for me. We found a group of men standing closer to the back and began having light conversations with them. One of the men caught my fancy, we shall call him Bad Boy. (This seems awkward but it will feel so right so soon) Bad Boy and I began talking and he pulled me closer to the wall away from the group. Like any classy 'mo on New Year's Eve Eve, I macked it with him for a little before being pulled away by the group to go to our next spot. As I am getting pulled away, Bad Boy decided to whisper sweet nothings to me. 

Bad Boy: I'd like to see you later.

Me: Come with us! Bar crawl!! 

Bad Boy: I'm going to stay here with my friends, you should stay here. 

Me: But then it wouldn't be a bar crawl and I don't live here. All of this seems silly. 

Bad Boy: Oh, you don't live here? Let me get you're number. I'm going to send you a text, you better text me later tonight. 

Me: Um, OK!

Bad Boy: If you're a good boy, I have a place for you to sleep tonight. *winks, slaps my ass*

Me: Oh, dear.

                                                  (I knew it was time to go. Oh, did I ever.)

The next bar on the list was made for Broadway — it was across the street from The Hanger and it was a... Daddy bar called Ty. (I don't explain what that is in the Gay Urban Dictionary, but it reminds me I should do a Part 2.) Basically, this bar has lots of older gay men who enjoy the company of younger gay men... just like Broadway. As soon as we walked in, he and Swifty made their way to a group of men by the bar. This, however, is not my cup of tea, so I plopped down at the end of the bar and ordered a beverage so I could digest what had just happened with Bad Boy. 

As I enjoyed my beverage, I noticed a lovely young looking Hispanic man sitting to my right. We began to chat it up, and before long we were macking it at the bar. (Listen, this was sooo 2013. I was getting it all out before classin' it up in 2014!) We would stop every so often to talk a little more. We will call him, Baseball Boy. (His last name was Canseco, so, obviously, I brought up Jose Canseco. He was not amused but still macked it with me. Win/win?)

Baseball Boy: So, how old are you?

Me: 25, you?

Baseball Boy: I'm 21.

Me: Maybe we don't say that ever again. Shhhh...

I realized, in that moment, I was "Daddy" status for him. I played the awful game, in my head, of "Where was Baseball Boy when I was... ?" This lasted for a minute or two before I decided to say "fuck it" and go with the flow. After all, that is how most people celebrate New Year's Eve Eve, right?!?! 

A few minutes after this conversation, my mack session was interrupted with the high-pitched noises coming from Broadway. Apparently, one of the Daddies had called him "chubby" as he took off his jacket. You'd think at that age, they would know never to call a gay man "chubby," especially when they are not chubby at all. While I tried to console Broadway, Swifty used this opportunity to swoop in and talk to Baseball Boy. 

Swifty: I see you talking with Fabulous, he's great, isn't he?

Baseball Boy: Yeah! He's really cute, I like him!

Swifty: He's a really great guy, and I just want to make sure that you are going to treat him well. He's a real catch, you're really lucky. 

Baseball Boy: Uh, yeah, I will. 

Swifty: I mean it, treat him well. He deserves the best. 

Baseball Boy: I promise I will...

But... but... why??? I found out about this conversation the next day while we were eating brunch. It didn't need to happen — I had known Baseball Boy for a total of 25 minutes, and we had talked a total of 5 minutes before I told him we didn't need words. Swifty is always looking out for me, even with casual mackin' it partners.

After I calmed Broadway down, we decided it was time to continue our bar crawl. Baseball Boy decided to tag along, which was good for me. My track record was getting a little out of hand — I didn't want to try and find someone else to mack with. I wanted to end the evening with a little bit of dignity... just a little.

We ended up finishing our crawl up at Duplex Cabaret Theatre, where Baseball Boy and I only came up for air when Broadway made his way to the front of the bar and finally saing Suddenly Seymour... bringing down the entire house. Swifty and I discussed our never-ending jealousy of his talent and how we would have been booed off stage if we tried to do that.

Baseball Boy and I exchanged numbers before we both hopped in cabs going in different directions. We still occasionally text, knowing that this little love affair has run its course. 

Swifty: Extremely protective wingwoman 

Broadway: Young, talented, and definitely not chubby. (Yes, I do hate him for all of these things)

Bad Boy: Not getting this good boy 

Baseball Boy: Young and restless 

New York City: Holder of my heart, my dreams, and my dignity

Fabulously Lost: Makeout whisperer 

Thoughtful Thoughts

This is going to be a post about a couple shiznat happenings in my life. I do what I waaaant.

Shocking Events

I have to discuss with you guys a major issue that arose today. Last week, whenever anyone asked me to do anything, my immediate response had been yes. Movie? Yes! Trivia? Why not? Random semi-political concert in support of peace between Israel and Palestine? ... Sure!? I was just so enamored with the idea that I could finally do anything after work and go to my apartment and sleep in my own bed. So, it came as a massive surprise to me when I was asked to go to happy hour (my second favorite meal behind brunch) and I responded, "No."

(But. Whaaaat?)

There are only three possibilities for why this could happen:

1. I've just discovered that money doesn't grow on trees.
2. I'm going to Miami in May for work, and I need to start working out instead of eating out.
3. The Apocalypse is upon us.

Well, if you guessed ALL three of these, then you are right. (But mainly, you should probably start preparing for number 3, because that shit is real and not okay.) As I mentioned above, I have been going out on a regular basis since I moved to the city and pretending that I have unlimited funds for these things. I def needed to take a week off from spending money and what better way to spend my time than going to the gym? (I COULD THINK OF A MILLION THINGS I'D LIKE TO DO THAT DON'T INVOLVE A GYM. Sorry. I just. It's. Ughh.)

Remember that time I slipped in there that I am going to Miami in May and pretended like I wasn't going to talk about it? HAHA! I'm a sneaky mothatrucka. Real talk: My company is sending everyone to Miami in May for our company meeting. 

(Oh deary me!)

We have these amazing trips every year for our company meetings out on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Everyone just assumed that when we got too big we would end up stopping these events. INSTEAD, THEY ARE TAKING US TO MIAMI. (I'm prone to outbursts, sorry I'm not sorry) We are going for three days the week after Memorial Day. I have never been to Miami before, so I decided that I was going to stay an extra few days with a couple of gals, a couple of gays, and a straightee thrown in there.  In order to get my shit together for those buff, tan gays down in Miami, I have decided that going to the gym is actually going to be worth it. I am also going to be sucking up enough UV rays to power a solar-powered car for a cross-country trip. You know, 'cause that's healthy. 

(Basically, what I wanna be. Sans the boobs... and the sex tape.)

Barista Boyfriend

Since I moved in a little over a month ago, I have put my love life on the back burner. (I like pretending that I have a love life that can be placed somewhere other than in front of me.) I decided that it was important for me to get myself established in the city and set up my home for any possible suitors to see. (After AT least the third date. I'm classy like that. Also, #celibacy2013.) This hasn't stopped me from the occasional sloppy makeout at the local gay hangouts, I've just been more picky about who gets to see me sober. 'Cause that's a healthy way to date.

There has been one consistant man in my life since I moved to DC and he, my friends, happens to be the local Starbucks barista. 

(Oh, I wish I was that latte.)

The issue I am running into here is that I have created a fictional relationship with him. He is very, very nice and always has a gregarious greeting for me... just like he does with everyone else. I have also been there frequently enough for him to remember my drink — sorta.

Me: I would like a...

Barista: Don't tell me, I got this! You want a venti caramel macchiato, right papi? (Did I mention he is Hispanic? OH, I didn't? Welp, he's Hispanic.)

Me: So close! I would like an iced venti skinny vanilla latte!

Barista: Ahh, I was close. I'll get it next time! 

Me: No worries, you're so good at drinks making of them and such. (Remember how awkward I am?)

Barista: And your name is Steven, right?

Me: Close again! Its Mm...

Barista: I got this! It's Milo!!! 

Me: Close enough for today...

It's not Milo. Due to these brief interactions and the consistency with which I see him, I have decided he is currently my boyfriend. 

(Insane in the membrane!!!!!!) 

Concerts and the City That Never Sleeps

Next week, I am going to New York to see Taylor Swift! 

(Imma let you finish, but SUCK IT I'M GOING TO SEE HER.)

The concert is on Wednesday, and I'm going to be there for a few days of debauchery and other fun activities. We know how aggressive NY can be, so, hopefully, we will find ourselves in a game of Russian Roulette with a bottle of vodka and prowl the town for boys.

Until next week...

Bush: Puzzled about everything 

Miami: Heyyyy gurl

Kim Kardashian: I think I need to make a sex tape to get famous

Fabulously Lost: Workin for da man and livin an abbreviated dream

My Accidental Boyfriend

Over the last several years I have had the "opportunity" to go on dates galore with people who I met in various walks of life (read: met online). There was a time, though, when I wasn't so desperate for a boyfriend and all I wanted was a casual make out here and there and maybe a fun person to hang out with. (I'm gonna need you to refrain judgement...it was college.). I talked a big game about how I wanted to find Mr. Right and how I wanted to fall in love and yadda yadda yadda, but in reality commitment scared the bejezzus out of me when I was 19/20 and was the last thing I wanted. One summer, I accidentally found myself in a semi-serious relationship. (Yes...accidentally.)

The summer after my sophomore year at UMD made me feel like I was hot shit. I had a sweet managing job at a fancy chocolate store in the mall (total babe magnet...) and I was also working at the gym on campus a couple days a week. (I have not missed the irony that I worked in a chocolate store and a gym...) I, too, find it odd that I worked at a gym in college. For someone who loathes working out and sweating as much as I do, I spent more time there than my own apartment some weeks.  Then again a lot of my life decisions don't have much rhyme or reason to them...if they did, I probably wouldn't be writing about all of this to you. 

Anywhoz, the days I worked at the gym that summer I would stay down in College Park with one of my straight male bffs (remember, I was the anti-gay gay). We would drink the night away with Kentucky Gentleman and play guitar hero (these were some of my straightest acting nights of all time). But there were random days over the summer, mostly clustered near the end, where he wasn't available and I needed to find another place to crash for the night. That's where Drug Dealer #2 came into play. (I was attracted to danger, assholes, not to the drugs! I'm clean as a whistle!)

Drug Dealer #2 and I met right before Winter break my sophomore year in the residence halls. My NJ Bffl introduced us on a whim and I thought he looked like a wretched degenerate with stoner eyes. (Ahhh true love). He had this long greasy hair always tied in a pony tail, wore these God awful beanies, and always looked like he had clothes that were meant for a 300lb man (he was tops 130...hey jealousy). I was thoroughly unimpressed with him, and the only thing he had going for him at the time was that he was straight. (Burn the gayzz! Seriously, I had an odd amount of angst for gay people. Yet I was all about being an activist....don't ask)

(Why yes this is the odd man who dated Mischa Barton and exposed his ballz to the world. Apparently he is a pop artist now. Drug Dealer #2 had this type of hair. blech)

I honestly thought nothing of him, that is, until he walked back in the doors from break looking like a completely different person. Drug Dealer #2 used his Winter break more productively than anyone else I had ever met. He cut off his hair and left this sloppy, yet perfectly placed, hair do. He got form fitting (even tight!) clothing and he shaved off his sorry excuse for a mustache (Seriously...I felt like I had walked into a 90s porno when I met him...). I literally didn't know it was him as he walked to the elevator and waved at me. 

(Why yes, he did end up looking like late 90s/early 00s teen heart throb Chad Michael Murray. And yes, I did have a massive soft spot for CMM...especially when he was on Dawson's Creek. Facts)

I was in shock and all I wanted to do was retract all of my previous statements about him and jump into the closest twin sized bed with him and find a way for two men to procreate. (Is it impossible? Yes. Would we ever stop trying? Hellz no!). I, somehow, weaseled my way into a random invite to hang out with him and some of his friends a few days after getting back from break. I spent the whole time making them laugh, which wasn't terribly hard because they were blazed and everything was funny to them. It still made my ego inflate three times its normal size (little victories..) and as I was leaving their room, Drug Dealer #2 pulled me outside to chat. 

Drug Dealer #2: Hey, so that was the most fun I've had in awhile. We should definitely hang out more, here's my number.

Me: Yeah totally, so much laughter. Uhhh ok well I just texted you so give me a call when you wanna hang out again.

Drug Dealer #2: Oh, I don't do that. You can call or text me when you want to hang out.

Me: Excuse me? You don't do what?

Drug Dealer #2: I don't contact people, people contact me. 

Me: Oh, well, good luck with that. I'm gonna wait til you text me now...so maybe see you never?

Drug Dealer #2: Wait, are you serious? Thats fuckin' dumb. Just text me later I wanna see you.

Me: I think I will wait it out. I don't need rules for having friends.

Yup, that happened. No matter how much you resemble my high school love fantasy, I am stubborn as a bull. I was very turned off by the cockiness of this man/boy who had just recently turned into hotty mchotterson. 

So I left and had no plans of talking to him again. Three days later I get a call from him around 11pm, to my general shock and awe. 

Drug Dealer #2: Look, I don't do this and I'm not sure why I'm doing this now, but come hang out with me

Me: Ohhh looky looky, you've decided I am good enough to contact. I am oh so pleased, I will have to ring my parents to tell them of this wonderful moment. (there is a very real reason I am still single...)

Drug Dealer #2: Fuck, Fabulous, just come upstairs. I just really want to see you. 

I literally had lost all the sassiness I had built up for this moment I wasn't even sure was going to happen. My jaw had hit the ground and I wasn't completely sure what to do with this weird new friendship that was about to begin. Drug Dealer #2 was dating another one of my friends at the time, who came with her own set of baggage, but she was very in-tune with the LGBT community. For some reason she used to tell me all the time that she thought Drug Dealer #2 was into me, but she wasn't perturbed by it at all...(like I said, she had her own baggage to worry about).

We had this friendship that confused the masses because he was such a big druggie and I wasn't into any of that at all. He would drop acid with his friends and then I would join them later and mess with them. (My favorite thing to do was tell them that the floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor. I made one of them cry when I did that....little pleasures). While I had the initial attraction to Drug Dealer #2, after he had said all the stuff about not texting people to hangout I had lost most of that and thought of him purely as a friend. (A weird, drug dealing friend who drunk dialed me most nights...)

So, back to the original point, Drug Dealer #2 was my back-up apartment to sleep at when I couldn't sleep over with my straight male bffl. The second half of the summer it turned into at least one night a week over at Drug Dealer #2's apartment. At the beginning we would go out with a group of people, then it turned into only a few of us, and after a couple weeks Drug Dealer #2 was telling me he didn't really want to go out anymore. He asked me to stay in with him because he was going to try and stop drinking as much. (I pointed out the continued pot smoking, but that didn't seem to phase him). I agreed to stay in with him at least one of the nights I was in College Park.

Over the next few weeks, he began planning dinners for us in DC and finding movies and things for us to do. He was also doing all of it completely sober without any sort of drugs in his system. I thought I was really helping in turning over a new leaf. My friends began asking questions about the situation and implying that there might be something else there. I shot all of them down because I knew all I was doing was helping someone. Then I had a very real conversation with my best friend from elementary school.

Elementary Bff: You do realize you are dating him, right?

Me: Poppycock! I have no connections. I am free as a bird.

Elementary Bff: So what do you do with him when you hang out.

Me: We enjoy nice dinners in DC, go to museums, sometimes catch a movie or a play

Elementary Bff: And who pays?

Me: I...I mean, well, let me think about it. Uhh..you don't really pay for museums.

Elementary Bff: Don't be a tool

Me: I guess he pays for it, but I do drive alllll the way down here from home.

Elementary Bff: Yes, you drive down here to work and get paid. Paid money you don't ever have to use on the dates you go on with your Accidental Boyfriend

I didn't want to believe it but the facts were all there. I was just fooling myself into thinking we were just bosom buddies. (I hate myself for typing that...but I am going to leave it just the same). The thing that I left out of telling most of my friends is that when I would sleepover, I always slept in his bed and we would cuddle. Literally...just....cuddle. (I KNOW...I mean...I am really good at suppressing thoughts if I don't want them to be there). I had cuddled with straight male friends in the past so it wasn't that far off, but I never cuddled in bed with them. Ugh...I know....bad right?

There were still a few weeks left in summer and after all of the chatter between my friends, I had decided that I still needed a place to stay. I also wasn't opposed to free DC dates and a good cuddle with my high school imaginary t.v. lover. (I still hold a flame for Chad and hope he makes his comeback soon...). I decided to suppress any of the thoughts about me and Drug Dealer #2 having this pseudo-relationship and thought about trying to discuss it in the fall, once I had moved into my apartment, one building over from him...

When the school year began my life was a little overwhelming. I was taking 18 credits, working 2 jobs, an internship, an executive member of 3 clubs, and trying to maintain a social life. (I would call myself an overachiever but all you have to do is look at my transcript to know that wasn't the case). That first semester of junior year was extra brutal on me, and a lot of friendships suffered. One of the relationships that suffered was the one with Drug Dealer #2. He had been one of my only focuses over the summer and now I barely had time to talk to him on the phone. I tried to see him but life got in the way and after the first 3 weeks of the semester I began receiving drunk dials and voicemails. 

He would rant about how I didn't care about him anymore and how I had found new people to see. He would ask me if I still thought about him and if the summer meant anything to me. The next day I would receive a text or call apologizing and asking for a reminder of what he said. (Why yes, this does sound like the fight of two people who were in a committed relationship. No, no I never made an official commitment...confuddled.) This went on until November when he texted to let me know he was going to delete my phone number, which was good for me because I had started dating someone seriously a month or so prior. 

I was going through a break up for a relationship I barely knew I was a part of. The following year we ended up having an illicit affair after my serious relationship ended. Drug Dealer #2 then disappeared into thin air when college ended. He deleted his facebook and stopped contacting everyone he was ever friends with, including me. I found him a few weeks ago on the internet....he works to help birds migrate south for the winter. (I didn't realize they needed help...you know since its instinct. At least its a job?). I would go on to have pseudo-relationships with a couple other people, completely oblivious to the fact that they were relationships. This will always be my ultimate Accidental Boyfriend.

Fabulously Lost: Deaf, dumb, and blind. 

Drug Dealers: Real fixer-uppers. My specialty

Friendz: Usually right about your effed up life

Kentucky Gentlemen: My true life long friend....