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 

The one with the Halloween costumes

Halloween has always been a time of turmoil for me. I tend to over think and overanalyze everything I do and come up with the most dramatic ways things could possibly play out. For someone on the search for love, I end up running the other direction when it comes a-knockin' on my door. Halloween is usually when I begin to over analyze the holiday season.

The funny thing is that Fall/Winter is my favorite time of the year and, in all honesty, its not because of the amazing feeling of the holidays, the crisp weather, or the inevitable layered looks of Fall that are presented at the clothing stores. I love this time of year because it is when I sweat the least. THERE! I said it. Thats my not so dirty little secret. If you know me, which if you don't you are missing out, I sweat a lot. Not in the "Haha look at me, I sweat so much when I run. Isn't it great to release those toxins from your skin!" type of sweating....more like the "Oh my gawd. HOW the hell am I sweating? I am sitting in an ice box and I'm pretty sure hell has frozen over in this apt yet I am dripping, wtf" type of sweating. So when the weather changes and I no longer have to worry about looking like I took a shower by walking to my car, I'm a happy gal. Halloween always tends to be a day where a million people cram into a tiny space wearing lots of costumes (for the men, women are lucky and get to wear their underwear out) and I end up sweating like I'm in the middle of the Sahara desert.

Anywhoz, back in 2010 I dated (and by dated I mean, I went on two dates over the course of a month and I contemplated telling everyone we were boyfriends because I am a little bit off my rocker)  a gentleman who was a bit older than me to see if the older men would treat a young strapping fellow with the respect and attention he deserved (or at least see if I could get a few free dinners). He wasn't a cougar on the prowl, he was 29 and I was 22, which in my head seemed normal. The only way I would date someone who wasn't in their 20s would be if they looked like an adonis or if they had lots of money. (Hey...everyone has their price. You really think Julia Roberts was in love with Richard Gere in Pretty Woman? I'd be in love with a hunk-a-hunk-a burnin' love like that if he was throwing money at me all willy nilly. Yup, I'd be a hooker for him)

Cahmmmm ahnn...I woulda kissed him on the first go around too....take that Julia Roberts

 Welp Grandpa and I hit it off on our first date when we went for dinner to UNOs. (Not where I thought I'd go on a first date with my future husband, but HEY beggars cant be choosers) He let me talk about me and asked questions about my life and where I was going with life. He asked about my friends and my family and college. I couldn't have been happier. We left our date with a kiss goodbye and a promise of a meeting in a couple weekends. He was busy the weekend after, something about having to watch after something or other. I couldn't really remember because I didn't pry.

Grandpa and I texted on and off and talked on the phone a good amount. The weekend after he disappeared and I didn't hear from him until Monday evening. He said he didn't want to be attached to his phone and he was taking care of things over the weekend but wanted to see me on Friday. We decided to see a movie and we were going to meet at the Columbia Mall. I couldn't be more excited! This was the first time I was knowingly dating someone who was a good deal older than me, and it was socially acceptable! (there was a time when I was 15 that that wasn't the case...but thats not here nor there. Well it might be there later when I tell you about it. Don't worry...plenty of time to judge me later.)


I realized before the date that I knew next to nothing about Grandpa, we had barely touched on his life. It had never been more readily apparent how much I like talking about myself. When you get me going, I will find any reason to over share and give you my life story. Now I'm not saying I'm vain...but I definitely would think this song is about me

I made a blood pact with myself that I would be a better listener and find out more about who Grandpa reallllly was. I made sure we had time to get coffee before our movie that friday and I came prepared (I had practiced my listening, surprised, and concerned faces in the mirror. I also wish I was kidding about that but I am not. I blame America's Next Top Model and Tyra for aiding in my yearning to look in a mirror) Our convo went a little like this: 

Me: So, tell me about you. Who is the real Grandpa? (I apparently felt I was Barbara Walters)

Grandpa: Uhh I'm 29...half black...live in Ellicott City? What do you wanna know?

Me: Thats interesting. Tell me more about your background. Are you close with your parents?

Grandpa: As of now yes...but I don't know how they will feel when I come out to them. They might kick me out.

PUMP THE BREAKS! Jigga whaaat? You haven't told your parents you are gay yet? You are 29 and in the closet? I like to think I came out when I was 16, but we all know I came out of the womb with a pink boa as an umbilical cord and instead of a placenta, glitter was shot out. I made quite the entrance, so when someone is substantially older than me and they haven't come out I am always mind boggled.  Also not to mention...you'd get kicked out? I was  making moves to move out of my parents house at that point, but I had also just graduated college. Ok ok...I need to wipe the shocked look off my face, I hadn't practiced that...I was going rogue on Tyra. Reign it in and ask more questions.

Me: What an interesting character. So you haven't told your parents? Do you live with them?

Grandpa: Nah, I live in a house they own. And I just came out about 6 months ago

Me: Thats so brave of you, coming out can be hard. I hope its been a fairly easy process for you

Grandpa: Well it wasn't easy at first and I wanted to wait until the divorce was finalized. I had been married for 7 years so I wanted give to my ex-wife a little time to get used to everything. 

So remember when I pumped the breaks before? WELP I slammed on those bitches and tried to jump out of the car. Now I am no expert at dating, obviously, but I also think you should mention to someone that you are dating (shut up...I know this was date two and we weren't engaged yet) that you have an ex-wife , of 7 years. Also remember that time that is a major thing and at 22 years old my most major issues were usually where I was going to get trashed and where I was going to sleep (Surprisingly not much changes from 22 to 23, except there is more guilt. Damn you Jewish heritage) not who my future husbands ex-wives were. Lets see where this goes, shall we?

Me: Um...married? Thats dramatic.

Grandpa: More factual than dramatic. Does that scare you away?

Me: Pffft...hrmpf...gahhh. BAHAHA

Grandpa: Err...that was just some noises and some laughter. 

Me: Hehehe wahhh? Prumph!

Grandpa: I think we should change the subject? What are you doing for Halloween?

Me: *relieved* Ohhh I'm going to be a guido! What about you?

Grandpa: Oh I have my kids for halloween, so I'm going to take the three of them Trick or Treating! They are going as characters from some of the Disney movies

Remember when I was dating this guy? Yup, my pretty picture was shattering. How do you casually bring up the fact that you have THREE children moments after you bring up a divorce. Its a telling sign of how a relationship will go when they say disney costumes and they think of their kids and you think of how your pale white friend should be slutty Ariel  instead of slutty Jasmine, because its more believable. 

The date continued to get more awkward because I was now using my faces I had practiced and was extremely convincing, so he continued to tell me more and more about his kids. Including that the oldest one is almost 12 years old. LETS state some facts here here

Grandpa= 29 years old

Me= 22 years old (at the time)

Child of the gay= 12 years old  

For some reason being smack dab in the middle of your child and you in age doesn't make me feel better about dating you. Instead I felt icky....thats like when Bruce Willis married a girl 5years older than his daughter. I cant...I just can't. We awkwardly went to the movie and I think he knew at the end of everything that I would probs be a better babysitter than a boyfriend...

After I had forgotten about this blip of a relationship, last summer I ran into Grandpa at the gay club and decided drunkenly to dance with him. I often have my drunk confidence on and feel like I am Shakira circa 2001

I was GETTIN' IT and Grandpa was feelin' it and I wasn't remembering that he had a kid who was now close to tweendom at home. We started mackin' it like two teenage kids who had just discovered that lips were meant for more than eating and talking(because I am nothing if not a classy lady when I am shaking it like there is no tomorrow on the sweaty dance floor) It was then that a swarm of women, who secretly wish they were gay men, descended upon us like Birds. As they began to make a circle, I thought it was time to dip it even lower since we had an audience now. One of the women screeched, as I almost toppled over...very un-Shakira like,  "Ummm Grandpa what do you think your boyfriend would think of you dancing on this ho"

AWWWW helllz NAW. 

I stood up straight. Looked her in the eyes and told her that this  candy shop was closed. (wish I was kidding...but that seemed like a good line at the time. In retrospect calling myself a candy shop makes me sound like a whore....shut up)  I walked off with my head held high and my pants dipping far to low. 

Internet Dating: 7

Fabulously Lost: 0

Shakira: Great drunk inspiration 

Dignity: Lost and found of most gay clubs at this point