Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Days of Presidents and Queens

A lot occurred this weekend. I have had the last few days off of work and am going back tomorrow. In these past few days, I feel like something has lifted. This might be resulting not from this weekend but from a week ago when I got fucked and the few times I have since then, my ass again unclenched, open, things unblocked.

Friday night, I went to go meet up with some current and past co-workers, all good friends, and we reminisced over Texas-sized margaritas and various meat products at Dallas BBQ. It was a lovely evening that really warmed my heart, getting to see these people I really love and who I haven't seen so much since they moved on from this job. There was also a bit of sadness, three of them gone, and two of them still working at this place, me one of them. I want to be doing something else, need to be. I probably need to quit spending all my free time stoned. That would probably help the situation somewhat move in that direction. Walking back to the train from BBQ, I ran into Adam who was going to go hang out with some of the Drag Race girls, including one I have a giant crush on, Carmen Carrera. I got insanely excited when he told me who he was going to see, squealed like a Bieber fan at a Bieber show, and got totally starstruck at even the mention of this person. I was a bit drunk, but also I really, really love this show, and especially Carmen Carrera. Oh man. So imagine how excited I was when Adam told me I should come with him, that he was going to meet them at someone's hotel room and then take them out. The thought just absolutely overwhelmed me - being in the same small room with these people, with Carmen Carrera. I thought about what I was wearing, how I looked, and thought that I could not meet this person while looking so schlubs. I also was due to meet Jacob at Metropolitan for a nightcap. I also was supposed to work at 7 and could not go galavanting out in Chelsea all night with all these fabulous drag queens. No, I had to get on that L train. I made some excuse to Adam, which I already regretted as soon as I said it, but that I was just too nervous, insanely so. So no meetings with the sexy Carmen Carrera yet. Maybe some other opportunity will present itself.

So I went to Metro and once there had too many additional drinks, more than the one nightcap I planned on, that it is so hard for me to leave a crowded bar. There is life and the clinking of voices, a vibrant hum that gives me so much comfort. It is the most comforting part of any party. Even if a party sucks, I can always find a bit of solace in pulling back and listening to the chorus of conversations, an indecipherable noise, a chicken yard full of sound. We took a car home at some point, after feeling the biceps of a friend and being wowed by their size, Popeye proportions.

There was dirty talk about using the cock rings we had yet to put to use and Jacob put his on as soon as we got home. I did too. We got high and then had a blur of endless sex. It was the dirtiest sex we have had in a really long time. It just messy and passionate, the two of us both hungry, the two of us both also fucked up on alcohol and weed, giving in totally to these hungers, letting them be known, moaning whenever we were fed. The cock rings and the alcohol were extending the duration of the sex. It just went on and on, neither of us wanting it to stop. After fucking him forever, tired, I had him fuck me. It was one of those nights where you can't sleep or don't want to because sex seems so much more fun, that demon has taken control of your body and everything else be damed - the only thing of import are erotic thrills.

The next day, having to be at work at 7, needless to say, was a rough one. Coupled with the lack of sleep, the wicked hangover, was the fact that what had been a nearly dead throat infection had again regained strength (probably due to the volume of cigarettes and alcohol consumed the previous night) and not only that but it had spread into my inner ear. I have had swimmer's ear a couple times as a kid (but doesn't every kid?) but had never had an actual ear infection that had spread from the throat. Oh my God. World of fucking pain. I was nearly crying and only holding back because I was at work, but really thought about finding an empty room to go into so I could bury my head into the carpet and cry out this awful pain. I was stretching out my mouth wide, trying to open up my ear passages, shift them, ease this sharp, sharp pain. It was awful and though it went away after an hour and a handful of Advil, it was still a horrible feeling. I went to the doctor that afternoon, basically demanding antibiotics, anything to kill this thing. I was upset that I was back at the doctor since I had gone on Wednesday and the doctor prescribed me nothing except to drink ginger, honey, and lemon tea. And look, I know antibiotics are overprescribed and that their overprescription creates huge problems and questions about public health and superviruses. I know this. Still, give me some fucking antibiotics. This time, I saw a different doctor at the center. I was felt very vindicated when he told me I definitely had an ear infection now and prescribed me antibiotics without me asking for them. I felt annoyed when he told me not to wait a week next time to come in. I explained to him how actually I had come a few days ago and been given nothing but the advice to drink more fucking ginger tea. And great, honestly, I am into all these holistic remedies, but I was so over hippy-dippyness in this moment and so into this man, sexy, gay doctor, and his quickness with his prescription pad, a 10-day regimen of antibiotics, three times a day.

Saturday night, perhaps, needless to say as well, was a quiet one. Tea, marijuana, antibiotics and episodes of The State.

Sunday, Jacob and I went to brunch at Elmo, me wanting to go somewhere really gay. It was. The food was also pretty good. We then walked down to IFC Center to see Kaboom. Once we bought our tickets, we walked to the dog park in Washington Square Park to look at dogs and smoke cigarettes.

The film was a mixed bag. I had an awesome time watching it. It has all of those aspects of an Araki movie that I love. It was actually really fun to watch but the ending sucked so bad that it nearly ruins the eighty or so minutes that preceded it. The ending is so hasty and clean that I begin to wonder what the hell the vision was here, how this could have happened. It could have been so much better is what is frustrating about it. But that said, I still enjoyed it a lot and would gladly re-sit through it again before I would The King's Speech .

After the film, we walked around some more, the weather still quite cold, but nice somehow after those two 60-degrees we had not so long ago, a knowledge that this won't last that long and the sunshine of the day holding more warmth somehow with this knowledge that spring is not too far. We ate some doughnuts at the new Doughnut Plant and then went home. We lied around, ate food, and gathered some energy for nighttime. We went to a slutty underwear party at a bar on Christopher Street. It was dirty, trashy, filthy, and cruisy. I don't remember one song played. I don't remember one good conversation. It was awesome. It was just I wanted at that time. I let this sex monster out and it totally demolished all other parts of my brain, told them all to shut-up, that he was in charge for the night.

Jacob and I both checked our clothes, placing them in a trash bag, our bag's number written on the corner of our chest in Sharpee. I was 70. He was 71. We were both in jockstraps, the cover ten dollars cheaper in jockstraps. We had a drink, and walked through the backroom area once, a bit overwhelmed by it, eager to get back by the bar, not yet ready for that. By the time I had made it the next drink, both of us were ready for that and were back there. I had my dick sucked by a couple dudes, sucked a couple really sexy dicks, and kissed a fellow here or there. There were a large number of creepers as there always are at sex parties, dudes that try to stick their finger up your ass while you are making out with someone else. Who just sticks their finger up someone's ass without even eye contact, without even a hello? I got a little aggressive with some people after this happened far too many times. There was one moment while I was hanging out with some dude, a nice erotic encounter, something there, and I felt someone try to jab their finger up my butt behind me. I whipped around, grabbed a tight hold of his wrist near my ass, and just looked him in the face, older, creepy man, embarrassed that I am actually calling him out on his inappropriate behavior. Even if it is dark and it is a sex party and a lot of people may be touching me, there is still a needed consent, that this blind grabbing is not sexy, that it's aside from really rude, also a bit scary.

But back to the fun stories, two sexy boys came on my stomach. I came a few times throughout the course of the night. Jacob and I talked to this boy I have a crush on about us and his boyfriend sleeping together. I saw lots of sexy things, did quite a few. We got dressed, left the club, and snow was falling, big white chunks of the stuff. I had thought we were done with for the winter. A nice surprise. We hailed a cab and headed home. I spent that night recalling all these images, all these encounters and could barely sleep. I just wanted to jerk off more and more. The next day, yesterday, my penis was sore from all the action it had gotten from some boys but more so from my own hand in the fevered recollections of those boys. It was actually a fever that overcame me. The fever broke finally and the other parts of my brain slowly came out of hiding.

I went to the gym, ate some food, and soon enough Jacob was home from work. One or the other of us mentioned the Lady Gaga concert that was happening. I mentioned that I had looked at how much tickets were on StubHub earlier in the day to see if there were any cheap ones. There weren't. I looked again and there were now much cheaper tickets since the concert was literally at its start time, it 8pm when we were looking at this. Both of us admitted we would love to go and excitedly bought tickets. We quickly got dressed, not even enough time to try to work a look, and called a car to take us to midtown. We picked up the tickets, just missed Scissor Sisters, but were there with time to spare before Gaga's set and we were so excited!

And I know people hate on Gaga, and I would be willing to bet that you are probably one of them (most of my friends are) and sometimes I am one of those people too, but I actually really respect what she is doing. She actually sings in concert, which is sadly very rare for a pop star to do. She writes most of her music. She is really encouraging of oddness, of freaks, of things that deviate from the social norm. She, though it sometimes comes off as patronizing, is unfailing in her support of gay rights. These are all great things to have of a pop star that is loved by millions of teens. Throughout her show, she gave a lot of homilies about loving yourself, about not letting anyone bully you or give you shit. Those are great things to tell anybody, especially teens. And aside from all of these ancillary things, there was the music itself, beautiful, sweaty dance music. I danced pretty much the entire show. All of Madison Square Garden did. It was really beautiful, the insane energy bouncing through the arena. So she's overplayed and she's ripped off this or that artist, but that does not take away from the joy of seeing this woman play a hometown show to insane fans and wear crazy outfits, do choreographed dances, and belt out songs for two hours. She was much saltier than I have ever heard her, dropping f-bomb after f-bomb.

We rode the train home. Today, I slept in. I went over to Diego's house and he cut my hair. I went to Stella Dallas to look for a new shirt. I have been wearing this blue and black plaid shirt every single day since coming back from LA. I even wore it my last days there. Once I bought it, it became the only thing I wanted to wear. I love its large size, its colors, its fit. I have decided that any shirt I wear again needs to be of similar size. All of my other shirts are too tight, too fitted. And so I have been wearing this shirt for the last three weeks or so. I needed to find a new love. I looked through racks and racks of shirts, hoping to find something to displace this shirt in my affections. I failed to find a shirt and went home without purchasing anything.

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