that's right. d.vo was in chicago, and as fate commanded, we met on this city's very streets.
late late late friday night, i get a phonecall to come meet some friends at charlie's, so i get to hoofin' and make the trek up halsted.
en route, i see this gaggle of gays and gals looking a little confused and befuddled.
me: "hey y'all, where you going?" (i was a little, wee bit intoxified, so i had my accent and my nice face on) them: "charlie's... but... um... don't know where it is." me: "shucks, i'm heading there myself, just mosey on over with me." (okay, so that's exaggerated.)
we're walking. well. i should say, they're walking behind me as i walk to charlie's alone. sad? definitely.
so i look behind me, to steal a glance at this group of kids i'm harriet tubman-ing to charlie's, and suddenly - shock - - awe -
me: "holy shit! that's daniel vosovic!" (i say very musical theaterly, pointing a la something out of "bye bye, birdie") random groupie girl #1: "uh, noooo, it's noooooot! his naaaaame is bri-an!" (she gave me an awful look and was totes bitchy about it!) me: "girl, please, i know my d.vo!" (i suddenly became margaret cho being a black gay man)
so now, i'm walking with them, sorta chatting it up, and they didn't really seem to mind. afterall, i was playing moses martin to their exiled egyptians.
me: "so... like... are you wearing one of his dresses?" (intoxification leads to bad small talk) random groupie girl #2: "heh... you're kidding right?" (intoxification leads to cuntification)
...and this was the beginning of the end because after that little exchange i started to realize just how rude and obnoxious these cats were. they didn't want to wait in line at charlie's, they didn't want to pay, they wanted free drinks, they wanted to cut in line for the bathroom, and they wanted to then be left alone.
let's just say, i'm glad i broke up with him when i did. he's short - we're talking like card-carrying member of the lollipop guild short - and a bad drunk - we're talking like stumbles mcrollyeyes meets befuddled o'jellylimbs - and a diva - we're talking like... well... you know, a diva. oh, and his hair is long again, which i'm pretty sure is why we almost didn't go out in the first place.
ugh, d.vo... i really wanted to like you. really, i did.
but you, much like every other boy in my life, refuse to let well-enough alone.
that's right, my former reality television love, walk those dusty trails...
over the next few weeks, i intend (and i know i've said that word before but never followed through) to address some ideas regarding being gay that have been thrown in my face lately.
i'll be pulling heavily from a gig i did at loyola this week, but also from a blog post by a gay man that really irked me.
on monday, i was the guest for a graduate class at loyola.
the class was part of the curriculum in higher education administration, and for almost 2.5 hours, i talked about what it was like to be gay on a college campus.
the very first question i was to address: when did you first know you were gay and what was your pattern of realization?
i told them while this was delivered almost as a single question, that for me, it really was two separate questions - when did i know and when did i realize it or accept it as truth.
i knew i was gay in the summer of 1988. honestly, i probably knew before then, but my earliest memory of being gay is at the tender age of 6. my eldest cousin would often babysit me that summer when i would refuse to accompany my family to an out-of-town softball tournament or arena soccer round-robin. she'd bring popcorn and videos, and we would stay up late into the night with all of our favorite teen stars.
the night we watched "lucas" i knew i was gay.
charlie sheen was the most gorgeous, beautiful, perfect thing i had ever seen in my entire life.
...and kerri green was an evil bitch monster from hell because jealousy is a heinous creature like that.
that's when i knew, and i'd go on knowing for years and years.
i'd know while i was the first chair saxophonist and dodgeball captain in grade school. i'd know while i was a track star and state-recognized artist in junior high. i'd know while i was co-captain of the junior varsity tennis team and the lead in the high school musical.
regardless, i'd date girls. i'd have feelings for them. i'd ignore that part of me that said something about these relationships wasn't complete. i'd go through the motions, and i'd never forget the choreography.
it wasn't until college that i made the realization. it wasn't until my 20th year that i truly knew what i had known since birth. my sophomore year of college, the pieces finally came together, and i realized i was gay. i've mentioned before that this was an incredibly dark period of my life. i was horribly depressed - not because i was gay, as i had known that for years, but because i now realized the lie i had lived and the lie i could no longer live - and i was drinking myself into a place where i couldn't feel the pain... or anything else for that matter.
slowly, my wounds healed. i picked myself up. friends got me to my feet. i took back my life and gave my liver a much needed breather. and as is my nature, i started doing my research.
i read everything and anything about being gay, living gay, eating gay, and breathing gay. i gathered a gaggle of gay friends, and we shared experiences, stories, beers, and boyfriends. i started being active in gay groups and events on campus... and the gayer i got. the more out my life became. the more i realized that "gay" things are really just people things.
those parts of my life that i thought didn't make sense, the parts that made me question who i was and whether i could really be this gay person, they didn't disconnect anymore. i could be a strong musician and track star and tennis captain and artist. i could be a million other things, too. they weren't mutually exclusive anymore. living was the oxymoron, and my life wasn't dichotomous - gay and straight - but rather fluid... moving from one human experience to the next. it didn't matter if bits of me seemed juxtaposed. that was life.
and i was alive.
being the person i was, the person i am, and the person i will be.
all morning, a fucking fax machine has been calling my number at the office.
every 4 minutes for about an hour, i withstood this.
around call number 16, i cracked.
i copied down the number of the fax machine that was so persistently calling me and ran downstairs.
i faxed the faxer a nice little note saying that they must have the wrong number.
i ran back upstairs.
it's still calling me.
another hour and another 15 calls later, i decide that the fax machine itself must be trying to make contact. perhaps, an intern lay dying at its base. the fax machine needed me.
i ran back downstairs. this time i faxed a message to the fax machine.
i was certain this would work.
it didn't.
i was still getting fax calls every 4 minutes, and the continuous ringing of my phone was driving me even insanier... though it was giving me a great idea for a hip hop song.
seriously, at one point i caught myself thinking, "geez, helen keller had it sooo easy. to be deaf right now. that'd be the life."
i let this go on for another 30 minutes.
the constant riiiiiiing! beeeeeeeeeeep! riiiiiiiiiiiiing! beeeeeeeeeeep! the hoping for god to smite me. "c'mon, i'm a fag for fuck's sake!" the twitching vein in my left temple. i've named him julio.
i ran back downstairs with a new note in hand.
pleading for the little piece of paper to bring me clarity, quiet, and a piece of cheesecake, i fed it into our fax machine. i waved goodbye. then waved hello when it popped back out.
luckily, this one worked.
the phone has stopped ringing.
maybe the intern finally died.
i wanted to say "stop fucking faxing my phone every 4 fucking minutes, motherfucker!"
that dream date of a woman, barbara walters won't return my calls!
i know they're looking for a "woman", but i think i'd be a great addition to the cast. i'd tell star jones to shut the eff up about al (i jest), prove that elizabeth hassleback really is just a republicanized debbie matenopoulos (i kid), throw joy behar highfives at every opportunity (for realz), and get kathy griffin back on the show regardless of what barbara thinks of her (sorry, babs). plus, i'd add a penis.
vieira was sassy, smart, sharp, a tad bitchy, and sexy in that hot mom sort of way.
i'm sassy, smart, sharp, a tad bitchy, sexy in that hot mom sort of way, young and fagulous. more adjectives = better.
oh, and i never hosted "who wants to be a millionaire" either.
c'mon... who doesn't want a little brett with their "view"?
and really... what's a show on women's perspectives without the input of a gay man?
lacking. that's what.
maybe i'll start some sort of petition. anyone know how to code that for a blog?
so... what job does this guy have? i mean, seriously, my office barely allows my ever-present stubble much less a full-on rip van winkle beard.
here's my short list: 1. santa claus 2. life-size garden gnome 3. gandalf the grey/albus dumbledore impersonator 4. mascot for the washington wizards 5. professional re-enactor for anything that fell between the dates of 1802-1873 6. former member of zz topp 7. anthropology professor (they all seem to look like that and wear tevas all year) 8. chuck darwin
...and yes, i totally camera-phoned this guy without him knowing. if only i had been quick enough to snap the guy wearing pants that were so tight i could count the veins in his cock.
today, a dive into the very dark world that is dating and drinking as mr. brett r. drinksalot
some background:
on the 25 of the third month that we know more commonly as march 25th, i met a man for drinks. via the internets, he and i had been chatting quite frequently for some time, and finally, i made the push (which is not something i normally do) for meeting in person. *insert "ugh" here* i hate that dating in the 21st century is more and more swiftly approaching synonymy with "...so i met this guy on friendster and...".
anyhow, we met for drinks, and everything went swimmingly. i had a good time. i was pretty sure he had a good time... i mean, hello, it was a date with me. right? right.
the next day, i sent the usual "i had a great time" email, as i am a charlotte and that's what we do. he wrote saying the same. i again wrote asking if he'd want to go out again in the future.
the emails stopped.
my neurosis started.
fast forward to this past saturday:
molly and i, having finished with the move from h-e-double hockey sticks, decided to get tanked. being that we now live in (and i really mean in, because seriously, girls, you can't get much more in than us) the gayborhood, we hit up a favorite haunt of ours, minibar.
literally, right before we left, i said, "gee, you know, i bet anything we'll see g.i.h.d.w. (guy i had drinks with... who molly pointed out looks uncannily like an old crush of mine from college). he goes to minibar a lot".
low and behold, we walk in, and there he is.
i wave. he nods. i start to turn back to molly and the bar, but he starts to walk over.
he goes in for a hug... or so i thought, because as he got closer i thought, "no, he's going in for a kiss, no, shut up, he can't be, give him a hug you crazy bitch"
molly later confirmed that she, too, thought he went in for a kiss.
we briefly chatted, then just as he was about to walk away, he says "oh, and i got your message."
that's it. nothing else. no further explanation. just that he got it.
"great. good," i said. he went back to his friends and i went back to molly with a truly confuddled look on my face.
not long after, the illustrious byron made a cameo, livening things up a bit. he was a delight, as always, and agreed that if all things work out, he'll be my date to molly's brother's wedding, as said brother has an undeniable mancrush on byron. i, on the other hand, just need to somehow incorporate myself into as much of the wedding drama as possible.
byron rejoins his friends, molly thinks it's time for us to move to another bar, and i decide i need some answers. i do, in fact, get quite brazen when intoxified.
i walk up to g.i.h.d.w.
"so... you got my message?" "yeah." "so... what does that mean? 'i got your message'. like what does that mean?" "i was just really busy and didn't have a chance to write back." "okay. but, yeah, so like what's your answer?" (yes, i do also become quite valley when intoxified.) "... i would like to go out with you again." "ok. good. great. that's all i needed to know." "yeah, i mean..." "no, no... i just needed to know, you know. that's all." "okay." "yeah, so... okay, so, yeah, we're leaving. good seeing you." "you too." he definitely goes in for a hug... not a kiss.
now, it is tuesday. i still haven't heard from him.
wtf, g.i.h.d.w.! wtf, indeed.
oh, and molly said that he looked totally jealous and crazy when i was talking to byron. i mean, like what gives.
should i write him again? or call? or passive-aggressively text? friendster message? do nothing?
-in a world full of boys in dark-rimmed glasses, i'm the one you'll remember
-i like beer
-sports don't scare me
-i can't win a boardgame to save my life
-i make lots of wonderful facial expressions
-i tend to flail
-dads like me; moms love me
-i'm great with names and faces
-four little words: "best wedding date ever"
the bad stuff:
-i have problems acting my age... you'd think i'm 29 not 24
-you better like the word "seriously"
-my friends are some tough competition
-i'm a mama's boy
-my impressions are horrible at best
-i tend to flail
-balancing my checkbook is a lost art, but i totally get physics
