New York, One Gay Date At A Time

Happy New Year

I'm off at a quite get together somewhere. Probably jumping from house party to house party, maybe I'll even get a midnight kiss. All-though I doubt it. I'll be boozed up yet not drunk. I'm never one for over doing it on a holiday designed to be packed with madness. Yet I'm happy for the fresh start of a Happy New Year. January I'm planning on hunkering down and writing more then ever.

So, Happy New Year.

The best is still to come.

Weird Ads

Eric Mueller sent me his new site. Weird Ads. It's totally funny. A little sickening but oh so fun. Proof that there are a lot of strange people out there. And they express themselves freely on-line.

Check out the link and the site.

Sleeping with the Past

In a bar, my favorite bar; I encountered the past, four years ago I slept with a one night stand. We knew each other, he still looked cool. Time had been good to him. As well as on me, since he was one of the only cute boys in the bar, and the bar was a bit empty, (yes this is me rationalizing my desire to sleep with him again) well I walked over and re-introduced myself, one thing lead to another. I went back to his place because he was close. He lived at the same address, had the same roommate. What struck me; was that his place looked exactly the same. Nothing had changed. The furniture (his desire to buy new furniture), his job, everything still the same after all these years, he cracked a few jokes about buying a new mattress because the other one had received so much wear. I went home in the morning, he was happy I spent the night. (I was drunk and tired, besides, I’m fond of cuddling). As I walked away, I realized how little most people change. He never even took the time to find out how much of a different person, I’ve become in the past four years.

A few days pass and I meet another former trick, who I start hitting on once again. He’s an actor-model-dancer so I don’t want more then a repeat experience, we talked, he causally mentions that he likes me; yet. He can’t hook up again. He states, for the record. In a naïve kind of way that only truth can be spoken in “I don’t like to hook-up with the same guy twice, it makes me feel like a slut”. A puzzled look of acceptance washes over my face. I understand; funny thing was, I was just like him, a young lad trying to understand how to be gay and form a relationship. Hooking-up makes you feel dark inside, and besides, hooking-up with the same person more then once, makes one vulnerable, actually makes one run the risk of knowing someone, and revealing person imperfections – both thoughts, so frowned upon by gay society. So I shrugged kissed him on the cheek, told him he looked hot in his cowboy hat and went back to the bar to join friends, once again happy that I’d changed so much.

I guess my true change is that I’m more quite now; those that know me might find it hard to believe. Yet I’ve found it unnecessary to constantly prove myself. In so many ways, I know that there is a future. That there will be another hot boy right around the corner, so I’m focused more on friends and more on life and more on the things that I enjoy doing, such as cooking and writing. The time I spend hooking up is slowly dwindling to a minimum. Yet somehow that hasn’t affected the amount of hot men entering my life. It’s a strange paradox. Letting go truly allows more time for life. Now as I ramble. All I want to do is meet a husband; a man, that will accept all my eccentricities and I’ll accept his. Now that’s when the real change and outlook on relationships truly happens. In the mean time, I’m happy I’m turning away from the hook-up rut so many gay men are stuck in. I included. Thank goodness for Celexa.

The Day after Christmas

It’s as if the city is breathed a sigh of relief. The shopping is done and we are free to look to the New Year. Christmas has gone without a hitch, I’m sure there are burnt turkeys out there and people improvising, Yet, I have spent too much time thinking about the past. This is the first Christmas where I have started to build new traditions into my life. I’m looking to the future. Yes it’s hard to survive this holiday when family forgets to call me and I’m disowned by most of it. Yet I spent the holiday with a wonderful group of friends, I got to cook gorgeous food which everyone enjoyed eating and I delighted many.

I’m glad that my friends are still with me after all this time. That despite the coldness I experience from family, I have New York and this wonderful city to save me. I’m thankful for the first time in a long time. I accept the small joys; that come with life am truly starting to grow.

Christmas seems to not only be the time of old memories, but old boyfriends as well. In the month of December quite a few have text messaged me or emailed. It’s as though they checked in, to make sure I was the same person. When I responded with cheerful positive messages, they went away; the ghosts of memories taken with them.

This New Year, I have much in store. I’m looking forward to January and the snow, it gives me a good excuse to stay inside, write, and save some money. I’ll actually be able to get the Kitchen Aide Mixer I’ve always wanted. Make some chocolate chip cookies. I wonder what the future has in store. I’m glad to finally start to leave the past behind and find that new and more wonderful memories await.

Merry Christmas

I want to give everyone a big virtual hug. I know it’s mushy but still everyone deserves one. I’ve struck the right balance of Christmas and people I want to spend time with. So for a change I’m actually enjoying the holiday. So to one and all Happy Christmas.

I hope Santa comes running and brings you everything you've wanted. If not, well that's what Credit Cards were invented for.

The Gay Family

No matter how much we try and deny it, we have formed family, those of us far flung and away from our roots. New York is the melting pot. Relationships are the glue; that make this city work. Phone numbers, cocktails, dinner parties and drinks. The dysfunctional closeness. The need for people to divulge their deepest sins to random waiters or waitresses, the shear loneliness, in a city surrounded by millions.

I’m often struck by how many truly powerful people I meet; they are alone and take pride in their solitude. They mention that they want more; they mention their desire for more. Yet can’t come to terms with it. Not understanding, the individuality that can happen in a relationship, most are afraid of loosing themselves to someone.

For gay people, I’ve come to realize, that very few of us have actually been accepted, truly accepted by our own biological families, we also have never actually experienced a working family relationship.

It finally dawned on me, that while dating, the biggest taboo that one can mention on a date, even for many months, is to mention anything about family, or growing up. I’m forthright about my dysfunctional past, yet when I ask my potential lovers, about theirs, they are vague. Scared. Like they must take full responsibility for the sins of their parents; they act as though they caused the dysfunction in their early world.

Inevitably, the lover will mention, that they “love their parents and that they did the best they could”. I have the same tag, nailed down. Then they go on to mention that their father was never there, that he worked a lot, that one of the parents was alcoholic, that they grew up in a town full of bigotry and hate toward gay men, that they can never tell their parents, that they are gay. “But the parents know, they just don’t ask, we don’t talk about these things.”

I relate; I feel their pain because it is my own. Yet not one of these lovers, who assures me; of the love they have of family, ever acts as though they know how to forgive.

The Cocktail Reception

Work at The Restaurant is always interesting, well sometimes. First let me start by telling you I love steak tartar. Let me mention as well that we make a really really good steak tartar. I’m also amazed, that companies still even in this trying time can afford to spend a thousand dollars a person for a cocktail reception.  Yes, that’s; $1,000 a person for passed canapés and wine, plus open bar. Happy Holidays.

I’m a person that loves spending and whole heartily approves of luxury; while maxing out my credit card at fabulous restaurants. I approve of treats and wine. Of a lovely setting.

Yet I think, a thousand bucks a head, is a bit much. Considering how much waste is also involved with a high end open bar, people not only feel like over ordering but don’t really finish all their food or drink. They nibble and forage. They abandon drinks; they don’t defend their beverages as though they bought them.

What struck me the most, was the lack of class in the patrons. Most turned their nose up and away at the steak tartar and waved me away ever so un-gracefully as quail eggs passed by. One man even requested, half jokingly (in his cheap suit), that I sauté the steak in butter and bring it back to him. I smiled.

I was mostly taken aback by how many people were unwilling to trying something new. Or even at the behest of the event planner, who raved about everything that walked by. How much people felt to just waste and waste.

The dismissing of a large amount of money. I hate to even advocate turning away business. Yet, the ethical part of me, wonders. “Wouldn’t it have been so much in keeping with the holiday spirit”. If this company took a slightly cheaper approach, paid just $500 dollars a head and donated the rest to a worthy charity, now how bad could that have been. I mean, they weren’t eating the steak tartar anyway.

Christmas

I have some very sad memories of Christmas; this time of the season is hard for lots of people. I would imagine, for gay people it’s even more difficult. A lot of us can’t spend time with our “families”. My own, cause’s way too much stress and friction when I’m around.

I have many painful memories of this holiday. My new Christmas Eve tradition is to have a bottle of Scotch and watch much non Christmas related TV. Maybe even go out to a bar. I like being alone. I like drinking on this holiday. This year, I think I’m adding some pie to my tradition and some nibbly things.

I don’t understand why family life is so difficult for gay men, I mean, we all have our stories, and no ones is perfect. I just think that the search for family and community is a major part of gay life, and being human. Weather we want to admit it or not. Having people in our lives enriches every moment.

I went on a date a while ago, with a man, that tried to convince me, that the only way, not to be alone, was to truly really on oneself and to realize that the individual is responsible for their own success. I was a bit floored, because, I believe in community, I’ve gotten through the hardest time of my life, only with the support of some very good friends, my new family.

I’ll be spending Christmas Day with them. People, that accept me for who I am and don’t judge. They are caddy at times, yet I understand and appreciate their honesty.

Maybe that is the spirit of the season. Not the spirit of blatant consumerism. It is the accepting of ones self, and the family we have, not the one we wish we had. Or could have. I’m trying to have the powerful moment, of not saying, “what if” anymore.

The Great New York Transit Strike

This is the first day of a Transit Strike. I’ll be spending the night at a friend’s house in midtown the next few days. The Restaurant is in midtown, the center of the city, even on a good day, the traffic jams are nutty. I often walk blissfully between parked cars that wait for their turn at the green light. A small part of me is excited to see how the city will cope without its transit blood. I wonder if the tourists will come out in force. If they’ll complain and expect their New York waiter to somehow magically fix the commute during their dining experience. Like we have some magical hotline to the Governor - “Yo Pataki; table ten is upset about the strike. What can u do for them?”

This thought comes with basis; I was working at the Essex House during September 11th a guest, so upset she had to walk from downtown to the hotel; covered in soot and smoke, was so troubled by her inconvenience that she began screaming at the front desk. Demanding a bottle of complimentary Champagne sent up to her room. She persisted to such a degree, the Managing Director had to call her and remind her that people had just died. He reminded her in no uncertain terms that she was out of line, after the call she huffed and puffed and stormed out of the hotel.

As most of the city braces and hopes that talks will once again commence. The local news shows are constantly talking about the semantics of the strike, the cities contingency plan and the gridlock. Yet at the heart of the issue is the breakdown of communication and the pensions of workers. Not just the pay raise. But the MTA is asking for a 6% contribution to the pension fund by new-hires. In essence this strike is about the future of the Union and workers rights. Something, I’m sorely sad to say has been forgotten.  In this time of Enron, magically disappearing pensions and overworked employees. I’m actually glad that the TWU is taking a stand. A lot of people don’t support the strike; there are rumors TWU International, the mother union of sorts voted against the strike. Yet, I do wonder about the money the MTA spends, how I’m paying more for fare and getting, not that much in return; namely a transit strike. I would like to see the MTA held accountable for its actions, and to account for its billion dollar surplus.

I’m actually glad that the TWU has enough power to take a stance and to hold against the government. Let’s see what happens. Mind you, my tone will change if I find myself crashing on a friends couch come New Years.

[Check out images from Flickr]

I Accidentally Slept With A Prostitute

I should understand that nothing good can come from craisglist. Well nothing good from the massage adds, but on one cold night, well the curiosity got the best of me. I’ve recently come to enjoy Spa’s, lava stone treatments, Shiatsu, pedicures and manicures, most relaxing. Yet all these services seem to be administered by petite Asian women. 

So in a very Samantha (Sex in the City) moment, I wander to craigslist; thinking of the possibilities of finding. Buff blond men rubbing down my back with their strong firm fingers.

I’m careful to avoid the dozen or more blatant escort ads. Then the massage ads; masseurs mentioning “they have their own table that can hold two”; all the obvious posts with masseurs exposing and glorifying their member – all these are out. I’m looking for an honest to goodness, Spa. Finally I find an post advertising a Chelsea location with personal massage therapists; they emphasize Acupressure, Shiatsu, and a full service nude massage. Being naive, thinking that well all this was blatant, all massages are naked. I send them an email, stating, "I want a massage, not a hook up".

They respond with a phone number, which I call, the cute gay voice on the other end emphasizes their Chelsea location and that each guest is assigned a personal massage therapist. I ask for their list of services, they assure me that it’ll be discussed upon arrival with my individual massage therapist. At this point my interest is peeked. I’m curious.

On the train over, I make a pact with myself, if the place is seedy, I’m not going in. Well it looks like a lotion and bath product shop. The place is right next to a police precinct actually.

I enter.

All is good; my personal massage therapist is a strapping young black man. He’s quite personable. He asks me to disrobe. This is done with him away from the room. I’m naked face down on the massage table. He immediately goes for erogenous zones. I startle but don’t complain. Within fifteen minutes, I’m thinking, this is quite a bad massage. Then he says it - he casually mentions, “He works for tips”, that he could massage me in the buff. I’m a bit taken a back, quickly everything clicks into place, I try not to scream at the top of my lungs. “Oh my god, I’m in a brothel. Where are the frilly lounge lamps?” Then I’m immediately entertained, I keep my cool. I start being very interested in my massage therapist, I ask, why he does what he does. “Raising money for my own Spa.” He also assures me that he’s “straight” but on the DL. He’s apparently never been intimate with a guy, all though I’m trying to keep out of my mind how many gentleman he goes down on, on a daily basis.

It’s quite endearing actually, he’s happy that someone is taking an interest in him for a change. I’m actually quite fascinated, he tells me stories about very awkward guests, I’m quite intrigued; considering the next play I want to write is, about a high end brothel. All in all I have fun. I’m going to spare you the juicy details, let’s just say, I’ve never had fun with a rent boy before, or plan on doing it again, well maybe; maybe if a friend wants to come with me, as some have expressed interest. Each in our own rooms, me more interested in interrogating the “therapist” then actually getting “work” done.

At the end of it all, when he mentioned the “tip” I was forthright, having only forty dollars in my pocket, I told him far in advance, that I had not prepared for such “tipping” needs, I thought a standard twenty percent would be fine. Well I’m happy for this outright odd experience. Yet I must admit, this underbelly of gay culture has always fascinated me.