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 

A Family of Weird

Quick update: I went on a lame date last week with a teacher. I don't have anything to write about...the whole thing was super vanilla. He wasn't a bad person, or weird, or anything. He just existed. I kept trying of things to make the date witty or fun, but it was just there. We went to dinner, we talked a bit, we went home. NO SPARKS. I am, however, going on a date with a lovely British man this Monday...

(I say lovely...but it's a blind date and we all know how well they turn out for me.)

I have a lot of weird tendencies and I am generally a pretty "eccentric" (read also: nuts) person. We all know this and have made peace with this (read also: therapy), but all this wonderful craziness had to come from somewhere...right? Well it did. A lot of my oddness (which I also like to refer as "lovable quirks") comes from Mama and Papa Fabulous. You see, they have been an ever present force in my life from the time that I was really little. They are obnoxiously accepting and are also an amazing role model for what marriage should be about. (They have also ruined my expectations of what should be "normal"....jerks.) They have actually gotten weirder as my brothers and I have gotten older, thus making me feel it was safe to let out all of my weirdness. (I'll show them weird! #stillsingle #celibacy2012).

Until very recently I have been under the impression that Mama Fab had never really drank too much in her younger years and that the one time she did, she got very sick and never had beer again. (To her credit, she doesn't ever drink beer.) The stories began to shift and change after my younger brother turned 21 and we were all above the drinking age. All of a sudden we began drinking a bit more as a family and discussing things that had only been briefly mentioned in passing. We, as a family, enjoy a beverage...or two...

(The blue one looks like a very good bad decision to make.)

Anywhoz, two weeks ago, when I spent the weekend submerged in other peoples love stories, I had a breather moment from weddings and engagements where I was able to go out with my date for the weekend, British Cowgirl. (She was born in Philly, spent 7yrs in England and now fancies herself a life in the wild, wild west.) When we got back to my parents house from one wedding function, we were geared up to grab a cab and go get drunk with some townies. Instead, we were met by Mama and Papa Fabulous who were giggling as they were decorating the house for my older brothers engagement party.  It took me only a few moments to realize that they had been going to town on my box of wine that I was given by my Twin for my birthday. 

(Slap-a-da-bagggg. The only way this moment could have been more perfect is if they were doing this)

There was logic that went into their choice to devour the boxed wine and it was truly flawless. They wanted to have a classy brunch for the engagement and having boxed wine on the counter would detract from the classiness. (A notion I will readily disagree with, but it wasn't my engagement party. And also may be why I am single) Because of their sound logic, British Cowgirl and I decided it was only right to help them out on this quest to rid the house of my prized Franzia. We filled goblets up with the savory Chablis and sat down for a 90min pep-talk with my parents. 

British Cowgirl and I had been making jokes that we were going to form the "Singles Room" at the party, knowing full well that we would be the only singles at the party. I guess my parents didn't take kindly to this, so they began telling us about how we will find love that we deserve. Honestly, it was such a self-esteem booster because they believed everything they said. We sat there and listened and squeezed the bag dry before we left them to finish their decorating and go out. The next morning all parties involved were a little hungover and forced to entertain for hours. However, I will never forget the night that I killed a box of wine with Mama and Papa Fabulous. 

(THEY HAVE BOXED WINE TASTINGS!!!!! It's the little things in life)

Papa Fabulous has other quirks outside of drinking boxed wine, he has also planned out how his funeral should play out and what he wants our grandkids to call him. (Not in that order. Thats creepy.)

When my brothers and I were younger we would ask really weird questions of my parents on our trips up to Maine. One year, right around when I was 9 or 10, we asked our parents how they would want to be buried/where they would want to be buried when they died. (Looking back, we were morbid weirdos...who wants to plan their parents funerals??) Mama Fabulous has always been a bit like the perfect mother. She used to sing us lullabies, held us when we were sick, read us stories with different voices, and volunteered her time at our schools. Her answer to the question fit perfectly in line with what we would have expected. 

Mama Fabulous: I don't want you to have to go visit a grave to "see me." I would love it if you had me cremated and then planted a tree and poured the ashes over it. Then, whenever you see a tree like that, you will see me. 

WHAT THE HELL?? She is like Mother Theresa. Like that is literally the best effing answer you could've ever told a child. Mama Fab for the win! Now, Papa Fabulous took a much different route with his answers. He was also a great parent who coached soccer teams, made us Saturday morning breakfast, and came up with the lullaby "Go to sleep, go to sleep, you rotten little creeps". Anywhoz, Papa Fab took a moment to think about it and then, without hesitation, stated an elaborate plan for his funeral. 

Papa Fabulous: I would like a funeral pyre. Not just any old funeral pyre, but a viking one. I would like for you to wrap my body up, put it on a wood canoe (nothing elaborate!), and then push me out to see or to the middle of a lake. Then you will have to shoot a flaming arrow onto the boat and you can watch it go up into flames. There is no way you will be sad then...that's just cool. 

(there are some really fucked up pics when you search "funeral pyre." Just sayin')

Like...I have no words for that. We all burst out laughing and just said Papa Fab was being cooky and trying to make us laugh. The funniest part, though, is that this still stands 15 years later. We still discuss it and, in all seriousness, my father claims he wants a traditional viking funeral. 

Outside of planning their funerals, my parents also like to plan ahead for when we have children. (They want me to have lots of little gaybies.) Recent conversations have revolved around what they are going to be called by our unborn children. Mama Fab decided that instead of us wondering what our kids should call them, they would just tell us. 

Mama Fab: I want to be called Oma (German word for Grandma) It's easy for children to say and it has history with the family. 

Papa Fab: I don't want to be called Opa. I'm not German. That just doesn't sound right. 

Mama Fab: Then what do you want to be called? No one is forcing you to be Opa. 

Papa Fab: Hmm...I want the kids to call me Thor. 

That's right folks, he wants to be called Thor, like the mythical God of thunder. This began a semi-serious fight with my younger brother, who decided my father should be called Odin, Thor's father. (I think it's secretly because he wants to be Thor, which would make my father Odin. As I write this, I have decided to start calling him Odin. Because I am nice.) 

(Oh hey kids, there's Thor, just smiting some weird creatures.)

My family is fabulously weird and wonderful. On election night earlier this week my mother and I drunkenly sobbed on the phone to each other over the legalization of marriage equality in the state of MD. Weird or not, I am pretty lucky. 

I am currently, moments away, from getting off a bus in NYC. As you all remember, I have torrid love affair with this amazing city and I have also had some weird adventures. I promise to update Monday with the weird happenings of this crazy hipster filled city. 

Mama Fabulous: Mother Theresa with a cosmo

Papa Fabulous: A true viking 

Fabulously Lost: High standards, high tolerance, high chance of destruction 

You Know How I Know You're Gay...

I want to take a moment and take you back into my life to a time when I was straight. (AHAHAHA...yup there was a time when I told people I liked ze ladies). I was quite the ladies man and I've actually probably had more girlfriends then boyfriends....(I told you I should have chosen to be straight!). I thought I had quite the racket going on and that people were convinced of my heterosexuality. Annnd then I came out. When I came out I had a slew of different reactions from positive to negative, mostly positive and mostly people telling me they knew before I did. (Side note: Never tell a gay person that you knew before they did...you didn't and its obnoxious.) Below is a compilation of some of my favorite reactions over the years.

Now I am newly in love with being gay and thinking its the best thing since sliced bread. I originally wanted to be one of those "hetero-masculine" acting gays who only had straight friends. (FYI...in case you haven't gathered..I have never been "hetero-masculine" acting...rainbows always shoot out of my mouth when I speak) So back when I came out I wanted to do it very strategically. I was 16 years old and this was obviously an all encompassing task and I planned everything out to a "t." I came out to my parents first which was a hoot...but I will get to that later. I then decided to come out to one of my best girl friends at the time, thinking that she was going to be the easiest to tell. 

First I told my friend Bee (we had weird nicknames for each other that still don't make sense to me...I was Boo...don't ask). I was so nervous and I wanted to take her aside after our World History class junior year. We wrote notes back and forth to discuss when we were going to talk. 

Me: Hey...so I have something really big to talk to you about

Bee: What is it? Tell me

Me: I think it should be said out loud. Are you free after class

Bee: No...we have another class after this. idiot

Me: Rude, Ill tell you at lunch I guess

Bee: No, tell me now. I want to know

Me: Ok....I'm gay...

 (remember thats all on a piece of paper...I just came out to a friend on a piece of paper...)

Bee: *speaking loudly now*: OMG THIS IS GREAT! WE HAVE TO GO SHOPPING!

Yup, the first thing that any friend said to me about my being gay was that we had to go shopping. Somehow a lot of people, not just Bee, think that now that I was willing to admit to my homosexuality, I was magically the best person to go shopping with. They stopped caring about dressing and undressing in front me and they always asked my opinion about clothing, because a gay mans opinion is next to God when it comes to clothing. 

I then told my other best girl friend, Girl-Next-Door (GND), since she was like a big sister to me. I had been kinda concerned about how she was going to take it since she loved her some Jesus. I want you to think for a moment where the best place it would be to tell GND. Think about it lonnnggg and hard. (that's what he said...hehe). Then erase that place because I am positive you couldn't guess where I actually told her. 

I told GND that I was gay next to the dumpsters in our h.s. Not only was it by the dumpsters, but it was after lunch so they were filled with crap. I decided to tell her next to GARBAGE. This sends a positive message about being gay I am sure. To her credit, she hugged me and said "cool." (I think I wanted streamers and confetti to pop out over us...but beggars can't be choosers...)

I told a couple of other core people in my life and then I told this one girl who I knew would tell everyone. I told her during homeroom and by fourth period I had people coming up and congratulating me. My friend New York (she later went to NYU and I visited her all the time), who had sociology with me 6th period, walked up to me with a little side-eye action going on and goaded me for information. 

NY: Someone had a big day didn't he...didn't ya kiddo! 

Me: Uhh whattt? I...uhh..hahah...uhh. No it's just thursday

NY: Come on, come on now. I hear things, I know things. It was a big ol' day for ya!

Me: Well I mean...I guess. Yeah its kinda a big day. *sheepish grin*

NY: I know, I know. Good for you. Goood forrr you. I'm proud of ya.

I swear to little baby jesus she talked to me like a big gay dog and I responded like a big gay dog. I was waiting for her to pat me on the head and give me a treat. We still have interactions like this...I  am in serious need of help...

(I would totally wear this is if I were a dog...)

There were two girls that I was friends with at the time, that I heard from other people, were waiting for  me to tell them personally. They were actually insulted I hadn't come to them directly to tell them about this big news. As I was walking towards the parking lot they stopped me like two teenage girls meeting Justin Bieber (the real one, not the black Bieber)

Excitable Girl 1: So do you have something to tell us?

Excitable Girl 2: Yeah, something important?

Me: Not really...do you have something for me?

Excitable Girl 1: No, obviously not. Didn't something big happen today?

Excitable Girl 2: Yeah, like really big?

Me: Umm, nope. I got an A on my sociology project...but it wasn't like solving the worlds issues...

Excitable Girl 1: This is ridiculous...JUST SAY IT OUT LOUD! 

Excitable Girl 2: YEAH OUT LOUD

Me: Whoa...I...I...I'm....

Excitable Girl 1: Omg just say it, we know! We knew before you did

Excitable Girl 2: Yeah way before, like freshman year

Me: Interesting. I mean if I knew what you are talking about I'd say thats preposterous. Also I dated you Excitable Girl 2. But I guess if I must say it to prove to you, I am gay

Excitable Girl 1: OMG THIS IS AMAZINGGGG I ALWAYS WANTED A GAY BEST FRIEND!!!

Excitable Girl 2:  Yeah me too! 

I never really hung out with either girl after that. I gained a lot of girl friends right after I came out because, at the time, Will & Grace was huge and everyone wanted to find their Will. I fell for it, but after a bit most people fell off the grid and I realized I was fully capable of being more then a gay best friend. 

My parents probably have had the best reaction any parents could have had. We hugged, we cried, we told each other that we loved each other. It was beautiful. They also told me they had no idea that I was gay. This. Was. A. Lie. Over the last 7.5 years since I came out they randomly come at me with different ways they knew I was gay. 

Mother: You know, the first time I thought you might be gay was when you were 4.

Me: Thats poppycock! I didn't even know I was gay then. You are a ridiculous woman. 

(That's actually how I talk to her. I am an extremely stereotypical gay man when it comes to mi madre, we are besties. ughhh so gay)

Mother: It was right around Christmas, which has always been your favorite. 

Me: I mean lots of children love Christmas. So what if I still obsess about it. Get on with your point you cray cray lady.

Mother: You wrote a letter to Santa that read a little like this. 

Dear Santa, 

I have been a really good boy this year and I wanted to thank you for all the things you gave me last year. If I could have a few of the things off my list I would like that, thank you. 

1. A teddy bear

2. GI Joes

3. Batman toys

4. Captain Planet toys 

5. other crap (there were others on the list. I didnt say crap at 4)

Love, 

Fabulously Lost

P.S. can I have FLOWERS for my room

Me: Wait...I asked for flowers for my room at 4 years old.

Mother: Yes, that was my first inkling you might be gay

Me: Touche Mother, touche...you've won this round

That is a pretty flamming thing to do, right? I mean how many of you asked for flowers for your room? What this proves to me is that even at 4 I knew what looked good it my room. I was a fabulous 4 year old. Ahhh to be young again. 

My father and my brothers often like to bring up the big give away to them that I was gay. I was in middle school, it was the late '90s and I made some major mistakes as a kid. What I am going to admit to you now is something I have tried to keep quiet for a long time. I have hushed my family from discussing it in public and I try with every fiber in my body to erase the memory of this from my head, but here it goes. 

In 1998 I got my first CD for my birthday. It was the Britney Spears critically acclaimed debut CD, Hit Me Baby One More Time. Now this, in itself, is a fairly gay thing to have as your first CD because, even then, Brit Brit was a bit of an icon for ze gays. (Did you see what I did there, I gave her a nickname like we are old friends....ahh to be friends with Britto!...I know I am seeking help) This wasn't the gayest thing I have ever done though. I became obsessed with this CD and with Brit, I listened to it all the time and made my parents play it in the car. I knew every single word on the CD and sang like I had a multi-album deal with Jive Records. (yes I know the recording company she was signed with back in the day. Shut up..)

Again, while gay, thats not the gayest thing I ever did. Somewhere around the middle of my 6th grade year I decided that I needed to take my love of Britney to the next level. I needed to display my feelings for Britney in my room for all to see (because I was having so many sleepovers back then...HA...). I began getting magazines like J-14 and Teen Bop and started cutting out pictures of Britney. Once I finally had enough photos I took thumbtacks and put them above my bed. I built a shrine to Britney for me to sleep under every  night. 

(this isnt my wall...but its eerily close to what I had)

I had this up for most of my middle school career before I got to h.s. and realized how homosexual it was and took it down. I wanted people to see my room and not think that I was gay (because I was having so many sleepovers...HA...#noguyfriends2000) There is a photo that exists somewhere of this and I hope it stays buried with all of my other broken dreams. 

Looking back on it, its almost appalling to think about how gay I was as a child. I did many things that were fairly flaming for a child. 

1. I had an imaginary friend named Penny.(Yes I did resort to imaginary friends, and I was quite popular in the imaginary world.) She was Inspector Gadget's sidekick. I was fake friends with his SIDEKICK but not him. Why? Because she was pretty and a girl

2. I was always Princess Peach when I played just about any video game (Super Mario Cart was the shizznat) with my brothers. I would pretend like she was the only logical choice for what I was trying to accomplish.

3. I enjoyed going over to my cousins house and playing with her Barbies because I didn't have any at my house. She now goes to Indiana and probably doesn't remember playing Barbies with me, but I pretended like I was just being a good older cousin...I just liked playing with their hair

4. I used to brush my babysitters hair. Other kids played with toys and video games when their babysitter was over...I brushed her hair. 

5. I HAD A MOTHER EFFIN' BRITNEY SPEARS WALL...nuff said

Needless to say, there were many things that contribute to me being the fabulous rainbow loving man I am today. I will periodically share with you some of my more embarrassing tails of being a homosexual child...for now I think I have scarred you enough. 

Fabulously Lost: Gay since birth

Singledom: Not such a secret 

Britney Spears: Still obsessed...just no shrine 

New York = Aggressive

This past weekend I had the pleasure of visiting my older brother up in the greatest city on earth, New York. Now for those of you who don't know me, I have a massive obsession with all things New York. It was born from my father's incessant bragging that no other state could compare, and no other city could really compare. I am horrific at United States geography because of this. My knowledge of the states was based off of a map like this one:

That being said, it is always a treat for me to go visit my family and friends up in New York, and I probably sound like an annoying child the week prior to visiting. 

Me: Soooo what are you doing this weekend? *snicker snicker*

All People: Uhh I don't know, probably drinking or something. What about you?

Me: IM GOING TO NEW YORK WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

All People: Oh cool, I'm sure you will have fun

Me: HA HA HA, Are you kidding? While you are drinking in bumblefuck, MD, I will be hob nobbing with celebrities and socialites. That's how its done in NY. 

All People: Cool...I guess you like it up there. 

Me: Who doesn't like the happiest place on earth?

All People: I thought the happiest place on earth was Disneyworld?

Me: Obviously you were mistaken. Check your facts, if you don't like New York you are a terrorist and a keeper of doom.

All People: I feel like that's a bit drastic...

Me: I didn't make up the rules, I just enforce them.

As you can see....I can be a bit dramatic about my love of the city. (Whaaaaat? YOU? Dramatic? PISH POSH!. Yup, I know its a shocker) I decided that I wanted to take this opportunity  in the city to flex my social networking skills and see what NY's dating world had to offer. I had added several of the GPS fueled dating apps to my phone and I was ready to go. My poor brother had no idea what he was getting into when he invited me up for the weekend.

To my complete and utter surprise, days before I went up, I got a gchat from my brother asking if I would be down to go to a gay show tunes bar in the Village. (I'm gonna repeat that sentence) Gay. Show tunes Bar. Village. AS if this was request I would ever turn down, I gladly accepted and told him to beware, my inner theatre diva would be joining me for the weekend. (Honestly, when isn't the diva present?) I loaded my bag with cologne, fancy underwear (which would probably only be seen by people if my bag flung open in Grand Central Station.), and lots of outfit changes. 

The bus trip up to NY was a nightmare. I met a drug addict mom who was tweaking on Vicodin (the only seat on the bus was next to her) and she spent the two hour journey to Philly telling every detail of her drug induced life. While this was going on the resident drug dealer on the bus was selling and buying Oxy.  I then had an hour layover in Philly. (Yes...buses have layovers. They have layovers in the grittiest parts of town.). The second half of the trip wasn't as bad but still cramped. This wasn't the amazing time I had been telling people I was going to have, but I am now well informed on the different types of Oxy (Heyyy Jealousy). 

Once I arrived in the city my different "dating" apps began to BLOW up. Messages from white, black, Asian, and Hispanic men began flooding my inbox. Now I can tell you that I received more views and comments while I was up there than I have in the entire month of January. Some highlights:

UWS Socialite: I see you are visiting from Baltimore? The best sites are in my bedroom...

I know NY very well, I don't think I have ever heard of you bedroom as a pit stop...

Captain: You're hot. Meet me at 90th and Amsterdam. There is a bar there, we can play in the basement.

1. Thank you. 2. My mother told me not to go in strange basements. 3. Was that reallly a pick up line?

2DAYS: Hey, I'm in the city two more days until I am deported...wanna make it worth my while? Help me complete my bucket list in Central Park. 

Uhhh....I think I'm good? And did you want to go ice skating in Central Park? What is on your bucket list? Being vague is unbecoming. 

I was obviously a popular guy up in NY, and despite the enormously creepy aggressiveness of the men on these sites, I felt pretty. (Yup, I said it....hypersexual innuendo made me feel pretty. I have three sessions with my therapist next week.) But it wasn't until we got to the gay show-tunes bar that I truly felt the power of my overwhelming attractiveness. (HAHAHAHAHAHA...I died typing that.)

We arrived at the bar and immediately got drinks and started singing Cabaret. Life. Was. Good. Sooo many men, mostly old ones, crowded around this tiny piano bar singing their hearts out. When it was my turn to buy the obnoxiously expensive round of drinks I was accosted at the bar by this older fellow in his 50s, who spun around and asked me several questions.

Oldie: Do you like show tunes? Isn't this bar great?

Me: I do like them, thats why I came! So great! *puzzled*

Oldie: I wish I were gay. I connect with them so well.

Me: I am gay....its pretty great. 

Oldie: I could tell, just call it a hunch.

(Ummmm...A HUNCH? You are in a homosexual bar singing show tunes. Everyone is a little gay. Also RUDE. I am not that gay....all the time.)

Me: Thanks?

Oldie: It's a compliment, me and the wife love the gays. 

I proceeded to walk away slowly and bring the drinks back to the group. As I stood there I began to make Eye Love to a guy sitting at the bar. We were smiling at each other and sort of winking and just being extremely coy. (I probably looked like I was having a seizure since I am a smooth criminal with facial motions) I literally moved my friend Jen to the other side of our circle in order to continue making our Eye Love. But then things got weird...really weird.  Oldie started calling my name from across the bar and requesting that I come meet my Eye Boyfriend. I panicked. How did they know each other? Why wasn't I paying attention before? 

Oldie: I wanted you to meet my friend, Eye Boyfriend. He said he noticed you, like I did! 

Me: Uhh you noticed me? And...Hello Eye Boyfriend.

Oldie: Now that you have met I'm going to my wife.

Me: Merp, uhhh, yup...heyyyy....

Eye Boyfriend: So do you come here often? I'm here most nights.

Me: Nope, just visiting from out of town. (wouldn't he have seen me if I had been here? Most nights)

Eye Boyfriend: Ah yes. Well that's quite lovely.

Me: Yup, do you live around here?

Eye Boyfriend: I live in Brook---OOOOOOOKLAHOMA 

At that point he stopped talking because the title song from Oklahoma came on and he needed to belt it in falsetto. He was off key, off pitch, off tune, off his rocker, and off my dating list. When the song ended, so did our brief romance. I told him I needed to see my friends. He responded in the creepiest way possible.

Eye Boyfriend: Find me at the end of the night. I have a place you can stay the night. Visitors welcome. 

I left New York with a slightly higher self-esteem and a bit more caution with which sites to add to my phone. The trip was a success and a good warning of the dating woes of the greatest city in the world. Can't wait to move there....a different world of mishaps!

Fabulously Lost: .5

Internet Dating: 10.5 (I dated many men that weekend)

Eye Love Making: Better left to the professionals

Musicals: Extremely Homosexual

New York: Aggressive and amazeballz