you'll lose a good thing

Isn't that always the way it is? You think you are in for the night, tired as all shit, and smoke a few hits from the bong because you are going to look at funny videos on the Internet, and then that's when you get a text to meet up. Oh well, East 87th Street and 2nd Avenue seems far even when not totally blazed.

I am listening to Aretha Franklin's Runnin' Out of Fools and other early Aretha tracks really loud and I can do that now and it feels really good, this freedom to blast music that only I want to hear and to jam out to it without the fear that someone might come home, without wondering how their ears might respond to this.

I saw Woody Allen's To Rome With Love yesterday. I watched it at Kips Bay. I got off at 28th and Park Avenue and walked along a trail of memories on East 28th Street toward the apartment building where Diego used to live when I was dating him, where I spent many nights. Those memories made me feel better, made me realize that these things have happened before, that I come out the other end all right.

The movie was just all right, as just about any Woody Allen movie is lately. But I will go see every last one of them until there aren't any more to be seen. There are hints there of that person you love and for me it's enough to keep suffering through these perfectly acceptable Allen films. I want the genius and maybe that's too much, maybe my expectations are too high, that from another director this movie would maybe be a very good one. I don't know. There was talk about love and cheating and commitment, about the absurdity of life. Getting back to that punchline that closed Annie Hall and that is his beautiful philosophy toward life that can be found in all of his films, including this one, that the reason we do any of it, continue to participate in this absurd march toward death is that "we need the eggs," that it's what makes any of this have meaning. Okay, thinking about it now in retrospect, I really liked the film because it did let me indulge in these thoughts. All the previews before the movie were for love stories. I saw some graffiti near Astor Place about love stories, though I can't remember exactly what the graffiti had to say about love stories. I know it was not kind.

But how far is it really - the Upper East Side?

Independence Day

I woke up yesterday morning to my phone ringing next to my head on the couch. It was Nick. I had told him and Diego I would go to Fire Island with them, would be at their house at eight. It was eight fifteen. My head felt like shit. I was insanely tired. The night before had involved a lot of drinking both before and at Westgay, where I danced like a crazy person to Ssion, where I looked at boys, pondering various ones, trying to figure out what if anything it is I want right now from these types of thoughts, wondered what my desires actually were, and despite being unable to answer that question I posed to myself about what my desires actually were, I tried to talk to some of these boys. Perhaps it should not be surprising that it felt awkward - I was something - too insecure, too out of practice, too fragile, too something, too much.

I hit silent on the phone and texted Nick that I was too tired, to leave without me. I then noticed the smoke in my apartment as I laid back down to return to sleep. I had put a pizza in the oven when I got home, drunk and hungry. I never took the pizza out. I slept all night long on the couch while this pizza cooked to a solid black disc and filled my house with smoke. Amazingly, I neither burned down the house nor died from smoke inhalation. I turned the stove off and because I didn't want to deal with that mess right then and because I could see the sun outside my windows, the beach calling my name, I called Diego to say I would be right over, to please wait for me, please.

And so I was soon headed off to Fire Island, the location where a week and a half ago I was broken up with. I wanted to reclaim this space in some way, take its fond associations back from its most recent one. I didn't want my last memory here to be of a breakup. I had too many other amazing memories of Fire Island. I wanted this breakup to become just another memory that I could recall when thinking about all of the moments I had shared with various boys I have had romances with on this island. I bought a six pack of Coors Light and immediately jumped into the ocean when we hit the shore. 

It was refreshing, rejuvenating, served in some ways as the shower I didn't have time to take that morning. The hangover and fatigue were eased by the cold water. I was feeling better and better. A beer was cracked and sunscreen was put on.

We soon ran into some other friends. We went to the Pines for the Invasion, which was a bad decision on my part to leave the beauty of the beach for some silly tea dance. We were there for a brief bit before wandering to Cherry Grove to eat. People split up. Some went to continue the drinking at a house party and some went to consume some actual food before drinking more. I went with the party seeking food - Jeff and Pacifico and this nice couple I met through them yesterday. I ate food with all of these pleasant homosexuals and drank water and more alcohol. A girl was vomiting next to us.

There was a lot more walking, of trying to get to this house party, and then of being told it was at capacity. We went back to this tea dance for a brief bit before these folks said they were headed back to Brooklyn. 

I decided to join them. I was tired and ready to leave. I am so happy that I left with them because this nice couple had a car parked at the ferry and offered me the middle seat in back for a ride home. Clearly, I said yes to the ride. So I sat between Pacifico and Jeff on this uncomfortable seat and got to hear amazing 90s R&B song after song that I had forgotten about, forgotten how amazing the song was, how much joy these songs give me. The sky was doing beautiful things outside of the window as dusk was setting in, giant swirls of reds and oranges across a darkening sky, a preface to the fireworks to come. We started to spot them popping up at various points on the horizon, soaring twinkles of light stopped short by pops,  falling back to the earth in an explosion of color. As we were driving through New York City, we got glimpses of the big fireworks show. We drove past groupings of families and friends gathered at particular spots on blocks, little high points, random intersections, spots with a view between buildings, wherever the sightlines led them. They were all looking westward, eyes all trained to the space over the Hudson River. There were the fireworks to look at, yes, but there were also all these sets of human eyes, old ones and young ones, all so full of joy and awe.

thank yous

There is certainly no way that I can give enough thanks to these ladies who have gotten me through the last week and a half. But just because one can't do enough, doesn't mean one shouldn't do anything, shouldn't even try. First off, thank you Mariah Carey. Thank you so fucking much. Your early work helped me get through those early tough days after being broken up with, especially Emotions. The titular track from that album, "Make it Happen," and "Can't Let Go" were played over and over and over again. For whatever reasons, no one else really did it for me in those first couple of days.

There were few things I could listen to. They were either too depressing, too glib, or they just didn't get it. Music that had often been treated as background noise of late has regained the tremendous power it has to move. I have again been actually listening to music and lyrics and what is actually being said, what is being felt, in a way that I hadn't been, and it's unfortunate that it took a breakup for these feelings in me to again come to the surface. But they are here and I am feeling things and rekindling my emotional relationship with music.  I had to leave work early one day because the sad blues songs they were playing were far too much for my then emotionally fragile self to deal with. I had failed to realize that all of these songs I hear all day long are actually insanely depressing, that nearly every song is about love or heartbreak. It was a bit difficult to find songs that could be played in the house when Jacob was home. I didn't want him to think that I was trying to send him message with the song selections. Needless to say, Mariah Carey wasn't really played around Jacob then. I remember playing Roisin Murphy's Overpowered when he was home one evening, that it was emotional enough for me without actually announcing to him how emotional I actually was.

And so thank you Roisin! Thank you so much! In the weeks leading up to our breakup, I had become obsessed with "Tell Everybody," thought it was such a beautiful song, with its minimal backing beat, its plaintive plea, Roisin asking her lover to: "Tell everybody I'm your my baby / Tell everybody we're not fading / Tell everybody, no ifs or maybes." Perhaps some part of me knew this might be coming, that my baby was going to leave me, that this is why I sang along to this song as I walked to the subway, as I rode the subway, as I walked around this city, singing out loud these lyrics, these commands to a lover to say that they are still your baby even though they are leaving you. I have been skipping over that track now that the scenario has actually come to pass, now that I am actually living that song. It's way too close to home right now. I have though been listening to "Let Me Know," which is a bit dancier and announces wisely, "I don't belong to you and you don't belong to me, so don't hold on too tightly. Let forever be."

Thank you Whitney Houston. Thank you Lauryn Hill. Thank you Erykah Badu. Thank you Fiona Apple. Thank you Robyn. Thank you Adele. Thank you Beyonce and your album 4, which I finally am appreciating and realizing how great it is. You ladies really saved my life this past week. Thank you so fucking much!

RIP The Love Chapel

It was a couple days ago when I noticed that The Love Chapel on Graham Avenue is no more. When it was for sale a couple of years ago, I used to fantasize about turning this church into an amazing bar and music venue, the type of fantasies I have a lot when I look at empty buildings. I wanted to retain the exterior, that amazing red awning that stretched to the street like a very old movie marquee, announcing in cursive script: The Love Chapel. 

So it was particularly heartbreaking when I saw that the awning had been ripped off the building, that this dream would now never happen. I'm sure this beautiful building is now probably going to be some fancy glass apartments. It seemed of particular significance that my breakup with Jacob occurred at the same time that the The Love Chapel was being torn apart. 

baby

grape flavored hangovers

When I was taking a shower yesterday morning, I noticed an empty spot where all of our bath products are kept, a hole where Jacob's used to be. He is housesitting for the next couple weeks and I guess he brought them with him but the hole really hit me hard. It was the first step of his absence. Soon, if we do indeed separate, he will take all of his things and there will be empty spots all over this apartment. I am so scared of that happening.

I sent him a final email yesterday to ask him to work through things with me. I don't know if his decision is final or not, though it seems like it is. The last time I saw him, there was the slightest glimmer of hope because he said he was going to use his time housesitting and being apart from me to really think about things. I am praying and hoping with all my might that he comes back into my arms. At the same time though, I am preparing myself for a life without him. It will be painful and suck at first, but it soon will not and I will make the best of whatever my new situation is. But I am crossing my fingers and hoping with all my might that he will not end our relationship. I want my babe back so fucking bad.

I hung out with some friends at various bars and houses around Bushwick last evening and then came home with a friend that I have had a crush on for a while. We got naked and cuddled in bed together, rubbed our boners against each other's backs, held each other. It felt really nice last night. This morning, though, the cost of all of those beer and shot combos and Four Lokos began to take their toll. I felt awful and this boy and I fooled around for a while but it faded off into me just wanting to sleep and cry. This boy was very beautiful but he wasn't Jacob. I saw bits of Jacob's dandruff on the sheets and wondered how long those would still be there, these remnants of him. I tried not to but I started crying with this boy next to me, thinking that Jacob might not be in my life anymore, looking at these white flecks on the sheet, wanting him again in bed with me.

Mariah Carey, Emotions

single

A piece of me is missing and I am realizing I am never going to get it back.

Ever since our talk on Fire Island on Saturday, Jacob had yet to make a final decision about our relationship, whether he wanted to be with me or not. The last few days have been fucking hell for me. I cry at random moments throughout the day. I cry as I am falling asleep in the dark. I have been remembering to bring sunglasses with me in case I get emotional on the subway, which has been happening quite a bit.

Today, I thought he might have made up his mind. I knew he hung out with his friend last night that he might move in with and he said that he was going to talk to him about what he should do. When I got home today, he was asleep on the couch, but woke up when I closed the door and gave me the cutest fucking greeting. He got up and gave me a really warm hug and asked me in his cute fucking voice how my day was. I was looking for signs. I was taking this body language as a good sign. I thought that he might tell me he loved me and he was so sorry for putting me through this but that he's realized he wants to be with me. I have sadly been playing out this fantasy in my head so much over the last few days. I kept on hoping that every time I came home, something like that would happen. It didn't. It's never going to. It's over.

We sat on the couch and I asked him what we he was going to do. He said, "I guess we should tell the landlord we are going to move out." I asked him if he was going to move in with his friend and he said yes. They were very definitive answers, absent the vagueness and maybes that had given me some hope that this heartache might be healed still. The flowers and the "I am sorry, I want to spend my life with you" were never going to come.

He sat on the couch for a while and I played on my computer waiting for him to leave for some opening he was going to. I wanted him out of the house so I could actually cry like I wanted to. And I did. I am not sure it's all out of my system. I cannot believe this. A week ago I thought I had a perfect relationship, that I was with the man I was going to be with for the rest of my life. I love him so fucking much. I have been happy for so long with him, for most of the nearly three years I have been with him, that I forgot how fucking shitty and alone in this world you can feel when you get dumped. It's even shittier a feeling when I know that person loves me. I know Jacob loves me a lot and likes our living situation and that's what hurts even more, that the decision wasn't necessary, that it didn't have to happen. He wanted more independence and to experience things that being tied to another person often prevents a person from having. And those are all very respectable reasons to end a relationship. It takes a lot of courage to say goodbye when you are comfortable so that you can grow into something else. It takes a lot of fucking courage to do that and even though I hate his decision and it has broken me, I do admire his bravery.

I have never had anything this good with another person in my whole life. I have never felt so comfortable around another person, so at ease. I really don't want to have to go through this again. I don't want to go on dates and talk about my interests and hope that maybe one day it will turn into something as magical and great as the thing that I had once, that one day I will know a person. And I know that these feelings pass and that at some point in the near future, I will probably derive enjoyment from these things, that I will do fine and so will Jacob. But I wanted to do fine with him. He's my babe.

It's hard for me to even call him Jacob, which I have been trying to do ever since he let me know he wanted to separate. I have struggled not to say babe, which is mainly what I have addressed him as for the last few years. He's my babe though, my cute fucking little Jacob, and I cannot fucking believe that he is not going to be that anymore. I have done so much with this guy, have seen so much of the country and the world with him and I cannot imagine him not in my life. I think the point is coming across, but I am insanely devastated. And I know that it's not in best form to unload all these things on the Internet, that there is something a bit unseemly about such a public detailing of your emotional hardships online, that it's better to keep those things to yourself, that there is something exhibitionist about the whole thing. And, yes, there is, because I am in fucking pain and I want to share it with someone. I want the thing to exist in some space outside of my own mind, to put the words and these thoughts out there in the air so that I can stop carrying them around inside of me.

I also want to to talk through these things, to somehow make sense of them. I want to write these things down and then close with something hopeful, want to realize after writing all these things that I am going to make it, that this is not the end of the world. Though it may be the end of a beautiful world I had created with this other human being, it is not the end of the world.

I don't want to move, but don't know how that would be possible. I really cannot afford to pay the rent for this apartment by myself. I might do it though for one month to give myself a bit more time to think through things and figure out exactly what it is I want to do with my life and where it is I would like to be living. It scares me so much not to live with Jacob. I don't want to. I don't fucking know what to do with myself. I wish that this was a dream I could wake from. I wish he would come running back through that door and tell me he's sorry.

pride

Saturday morning, Jacob and I were riding the ferry to Fire Island for a day trip there. The gay guys in the seat behind us were recounting sexual escapades for each other. One of the guys was telling a story about meeting a 22 year old at Tea Dance, how he hooked up with him after, and how then the 22 year old asked him what his plans were for Pride, if they could meet up in the city. The punchline to this story went something like, “That’s a 22 year old for you – they fall in love with anyone they sleep with.”

I was sitting with a 22 year old on the ferry and was wondering if he had fallen in love with me just because we slept together nearly three years ago.

Fast-forward a couple hours later, the two of us are lying on the beach naked, drinking vodka and Arnold Palmers. Jacob had been a bit standoffish the last couple days with me and I asked him about it. He was reluctant to talk at first, which scared me because if someone is hesitant there is usually a reason, the news is probably big news, upsetting news. Finally, he admitted to me that he basically wants to be single, that he misses freedoms he had before dating me, fun he had before dating me, that at times he feels smothered by me.

I wasn’t expecting this at all and wasn’t prepared for this. I had always imagined this man in my life forever. I didn’t think it would end. I told him this and started to cry a bit when doing so.

We were hours from home, away from any cell reception, at the edge of the world, peering off into the ocean, alone with each other. Despite this talk, we spent a few more hours at the beach swimming and tanning and then went and had a couple drinks at Tea Dance before heading home on a ferry as dusk was settling over the bay.

When I woke up yesterday, I looked at Jacob’s sleeping face, trying to fathom what my life was going to be like without him in bed next to me every morning, how much I would miss this sight. I woke up and we had sex. I kissed him a few times throughout but he didn’t seem to be into kissing me and so we just fucked. Afterwards, covered in his and my own semen, I went to take a shower. I turned on the radio by our bathroom, turned it to KTU, and turned it up loud, just wanted to jam out to loud pop music. The song, of course, that came on was Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable.” “Everything you own in a box to the left,” I sang along to in the shower, thinking about what a fucking drag it is going to be to have to move.

We talked on the couch some more yesterday morning before each going to do our own thing for Gay Pride. He said he isn’t sure what he wants, not sure if he wants to be single or not.

At brunch with some friends, I pounded back some drinks immediately and felt better. I was wearing a low cut tank top and some cute shorts. I was getting looks from cute boys on the streets of this city and feeling good. Words of wisdom from Latrice Royale were going through my head when I was getting dressed yesterday: “Get up, look sickening, and make them eat it.”

I watched the parade and then met up with Darnell. We bought nutcrackers on the street and drank them on curbs in the West Village, talking to people, talking to each other about our lives, really bonding in this nice way, opening up emotionally with each other. We then went dancing at a few bars. I ran into Robert and Mark at Nowhere and went with them to Metropolitan. They were playing old disco and soul tunes and people were dancing. I was dancing. At some point, Robert and Mark said bye to me. I stayed on the dancefloor, dancing to song after song, really feeling quite happy and alive.

I walked home and stopped at Gran Morelos. I ate a burrito at the counter there. Some twentysomething guy was passed out a couple stools down from me, waiting for his food. The television was playing some animal special in Spanish. I couldn’t understand exactly what the thrust of the program was or what the voiceovers were saying, but it was really quite depressing footage of animals being pulled apart from each other in zoos or in the wild and seeing the intense loyalty of these animals to each other, the sinking depression as one elephant saw another elephant downed by a tranquilizer. The scene after that was of this family of polar bears, mom and two cubs. One of the cubs was taken by what seemed like scientists and you see the panic and confusion on the face of the mom and other cub. The cub that was taken away made the most depressing yelp that you have probably ever heard in your whole life and the show kept looping the yelp over and over.

The waitress was enthralled by this show and kept gasping, shaking her head, and covering her mouth with her hand. I had to get her attention to pay my check.

I did see though before I left that the cub was released back to his family after he was tagged or whatever it was they were doing to him. This made me feel slightly better.

Thirty-one

I am now thirty-one years old. I spent the better part of my morning sleeping off a hangover, spent most of my day (up to and including now) feeling physically and mentally listless. This is because I spent my night last evening drinking too much. The night ended in a blur. I don’t remember getting home. I don’t remember eating leftover pizza when I got home but I saw the empty pizza box this morning when I was looking around my kitchen for something to make me feel better. I saw an embarrassing text message on my phone that I had sent. I rolled over and went back to bed.

It rained all day and all evening yesterday. That means something, what exactly though I am not sure.