Minty Fresh Memories

Walking.

Through the city this past weekend.

Mostly alone.

I found myself in Hell's Kitchen.
No surprise.
I passed by the old apartment. I stopped in to say hello to Angela at The Coffee Pot. I even ate at Zen Palate. I contemplated a glass of Wine at Riposa. But, decided against it. After all, it was only 5:30p.m. and I hate that place anyway. 5:30p.m. on Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve is beer time, not wine time in my book. So, after one $3 Rolling Rock draft at Cleo's Old Faithful, I reluctantly walked north toward The Shops At Columbus Circle with gift giving intentions. I approach the deli that lives on the southwest corner of 9th Avenue and 49th Street. A deli I pass by frequently with rare attention paid, but today was lonelier than most for me and I found myself drawn to it. Perhaps it had to do with the season or maybe just my hangover. But, for some reason I went inside. I didn't need anything so I bought some gum. I left the deli and found myself heading west on 49th Street even though that was out of my way. Only three strides west and it hit me. This is the corner I told you to meet me on the night we reconnected after some awards show. The same deli where I waited with such intense nervousness and anticipation. I believe I even kept my fingers crossed, hoping you would pick me over the present company at that dank bar we both were in.
That night, I told you to meet me on that corner not knowing whether or not you would or wanted to. I texted you and then ran inside to grab some gum. I then proceeded to devour a whole cig in under 2 mins. This was in an attempt to remain calm and appear cool, only to fail miserably and bring my heart rate up. I remember tossing the gum in my mouth and then chomping on it ferociously. I rubbed the half chewed piece on my teeth aggressively. I guess I was hoping to either sand away the smoke and booze or pass on, by way of osmosis, the minty goodness. I stood there licking my lips and slathering my moustache with it's minty juices hoping to mask any taste or smell of tobacco and nicotine. I was trying to make a drunken-sunrise-walk home as romantic and hopeful as possible. If we were to FINALLY kiss, even at 5am on a topsy-turvy Sunday, I was going to make sure I made the most of it. I went as far as to take the Orbitz out of my mouth and roll it between my fingers in case you kissed my hand. (Freak) Because I probably wanted you to do that. I know I wanted you to kiss me. Kiss me hard. I know I wanted to find a corridor or a quiet stoop and kiss you back. I wanted you to kiss my neck, cheeks, lips...whatever. I remember wanting your kiss more than I ever wanted another kiss. I also remember I was pretty drunk and couldn't possibly properly compare the weight of all my life's desires in just few short minutes. But, it didn't matter. That was all I wanted at that hour of that given day. Or at least the alcohol told me so.

(God to think...? What if you had never kissed me? All that gum exercise would have amounted to nothing.)

But, you did.
You kissed me. I think it's safe to say you kissed me first.
You kissed me with confidence and passion. The perfect see-saw of kisser and kissee by both of us. It was breathtaking. Oh, alright, who am I kidding. It was sloppy and uninhibited. It was lustful and ravenous. It was a year's worth of pent up passion well oiled over the past few hours and loosely falling into place. But, I remember it so vividly.

I remember debating whether we were going to go home with one another. I remember holding your hand and walking/stumbling you home. I remember exchanging numbers and making promises to call. Why after all those years did we not have each other's number? I remember it being muggy and humid. Was it the summer or the brink of fall? I remember you tasting like cigs and booze. All my gum tactics pointless because you smoke too. I remember not caring. I remember liking it all. All of the way it was unfolding.

I knew when I saw you inside the bar that night. The look of excitement and surprise in both our eyes. I knew we would kiss. Maybe not that night but soon there after. I knew we would experience something. It was bound to happen after a year or more of over the counter drugs being doled out to you for free and pleasantries exchanged with a longer hug than normal. Or better yet, a lingering gaze full of curiosities across the room with a barrage of men between us. You always could arouse me without even a touch of hand.

I walked you home that night realizing your powerful energy and saying hello to a new possibility.

Tonight, I walked you home again.
Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve.
I walked west on 49th Street past the evergreen trees lined up outside the deli. I was wishing I could bring you a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and a bottle of cheap red wine that we would finish and eventually toss off of your rooftop. Then I would crawl back into your arms where your mouth would be barely brushing my ear as you softly whispered your woes about all the Christmas music I was forcing you to listen to.
I walked you home tonight and smelled your cologne with a hint of burnt hair from your flat-iron. Cosmic timing played a part and Coldplay come over my iPod and it reminded me of your laptop that sat at your corner desk in your bedroom.
I walked you home tonight. I sat on your old stoop and wished I still smoked. I sat there talking to you in my head. Basically telling you this story that I write now. Now that I think of it, I probably looked a little homeless and crazy. Oh well, I have looked worse before.

I pulled out a piece of the gum, chewed, and breathed in it's minty freshness. Then I said good night and hoped your nose was itching from someone thinking about you.

O Holy Night

White Christmas there was not.

There was no egg nog or plump stockings. I didn't open any presents on Christmas Eve or Day. I spoke only to my mother, missing my father and brother in the hustle and bustle of the time zones and functions. There wasn't a cookie jar full of fattening treats. There weren't any children traipsing and tripping through the house (apt.). I had only two presents under my tree that stood only three feet tall. If we are being honest, the day was lacking a blustering thrill of anticipation. Not to mention pumpkin pie and stuffing.

But, there was still the 24-hour "A Christmas Story" playing on TBS. I had three hours of Christmas music shuffling on my iTunes. I put on my lumberjack socks. I made Hazelnut coffee with soy milk and cinnamon. The lights on my tree remained on from 4pm Christmas Eve until I left the house on Christmas night. Christmas Eve consisted of a steak dinner and a private viewing with Chrissy of my all-time-favorite Christmas movie..."Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" I can't imagine a more worthy recipient of this invite than Chrissy and he did not disappoint in his appreciation of the film. We each drank a bottle of pinot noir, then breaked with a cup of java, then toasted with Champagne to our budding but bonding friendship from 2006 before calling it a night well after midnight.

Christmas Day began with reluctance. I had to fight the blues away. I wrapped myself in two blankets on my sofa and began my marathon of "A Christmas Story." Since I still don't have kids of my own, I become a kid myself on Christmas morning. This time instead of screaming for more presents and crumpling all the beautiful wrapping paper I'd torn through, I whined a little inside my head. I wanted my mommy and my stocking full of reasons to visit the dentist. Instead I buried my nose in the aroma of my coffee reminding myself to be grateful for all of the simple pleasures of life, including the flurry of holiday text message greetings that bombarded my razor from 9 a.m. on. I waited to hear from the Nurse, as we had planned to spend Christmas Day together regardless of no longer existing as a couple. I was excited for him to see my pathetic but adorable little tree and how clean the apartment was. I also had more things on the wall since last he dropped by. Overall, I felt that my apartment was a cozy place to begin Christmas, even if you were alone.

I pieced together a festive ensemble for the day's travels. The Nurse and I were going to spend some time together at my place first then we would join The Bears for a holiday/birthday dinner. Blake was born on Christmas. I checked movie times for Dreamgirls, hoping to find a time to include that in my Christmas plans. I put the finishing touches on Blake and Joe's Christmas package and waited.

I returned dozens of messages. I swept up any stray pine needles. I poured myself another cup of coffee, then another, then another.

Needless to say, things don't always work out the way you plan. But, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and made the most of what was left of my day. I had honey baked ham and cheddar mashed potatoes. The Bears bought me a Kelly Clarkson concert T that fits perfectly. We watched clips from old musicals and past Tony Awards telecasts. I even took one cough induced hit from the peace pipe that was passed around.

I raced downtown to try and catch a showing of Dreamgirls, but it was sold out. So, instead I saw some movie about the year 2027 and how women by then will have been infertile for 18 years. It didn't matter what movie I sat through. The popcorn and the soda are enough to keep me happy for two or so hours. I mean it too. You should see the way I shift in my seat and make myself comfortable with a giddy and hungry smile stretched across my face during the previews.

I finished the night by curling up with Harry Potter book 3 and my down comforter. My Christmas mix began it's shuffle. Joni Mitchell hummed softly in the background. I have been growing up for years. But, this year was a big reality check. Christmas wasn't ever going to be what it was when I was 10. It didn't hurt-this realization. It made me yearn for something I couldn't put into words. I was melancholy. I may have been a little lonely too. But, I wasn't sad. After all, it was Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year.



Joni sings..."Oh I wished I had a river I could skate away on...."

Side Show

The midwest can be so awful. It's a hurricane or tornado of ignorance. But it is also a sanctuary of family values and breeding. It's a whirlwind every time I go. This time was no different.

I was sucked into the vortex or maybe even the eye of the storm. I sat peacefully in the center watching the mess fly around me in an uncontrollable flourish of debris and destruction. Except where the eye is usually peaceful, this time I sat with discomfort and my eyes took in all that I witnessed. People. People genuinely happy. They don't need to be fluent in three languages. They didn't need to make more money. They didn't need to have traveled over seas. They didn't need a glass of pinot noir. They didn't need to discuss politics or the golden globe nominations. They didn't need a pair of ugg boots. They didn't need to check their email, blackberry, flight status. They didn't need Chanel Platinum or degree body heat activated.

They were happy with their English language saturated with poor grammar and a red-neck dialect. They were happy with their 21,000 dollar teaching job with benefits and summers off. They were ecstatic about their honeymoon to Orlando or Vegas. Coors Light brought a smile to their face and kept them looking cool and easy going. Telling the same work story over and over paired with a college memory kept the laughter up to par and the conversation at a steady pace. A pair of Faded Glory simple black pumps will dress up all there required functions for the year. They didn't need home computers, their cell phones were used only when they travel, and almost everyone drove back to the hometown with no flight delays or lost luggage. The secret was out....most everything was strong enough for a man but made for a woman.

I realized this weekend that I am not okay with my life as a whole. I realized it has a lot to do with my sexuality. I pride myself on my level of comfort in my own skin. But, I am spoiled. I live in a gay metropolitan city. I work in a reputable gay establishment with 90% gay employees. I have had only gay or straight female roommates. I went to theatre school. I work in the arts. I live in Manhattan.

I live a sheltered life. No different than the one's that my heterosexual, anti-cosmopolitan breeder friends do.

I want to be like everyone else. I want what everyone wants. The easy life. The American Dream. I don't hate it. My life. I don't believe I chose it. My sexuality. I don't think it can change. My sexuality. But, I am not happy. My life and my sexuality. I want what everyone else wants.

I want children. I want my parents to become grandparents. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with a floor full of presents and the house full of cheer and voices. I want for us to be on top of each other with so many family around. I want to take my son outside to go sledding or snowman making. I want to swap pictures of Tristin's first lost tooth and Trinity's first time being a flower girl at the latest wedding. I want to stuff my face with horrible fatty foods. I want to watch football and actually care. I want to have Brenda Lee and Dolly Parton's Christmas Album on repeat. I want my refrigerator to be stocked with Velveeta and 2% milk, instant coffee and home-made bread and cookies. I want individual pudding snacks for all the nieces and nephews. I want dog biscuits for Jake.

I want people to stop looking at me. I want people to stop whispering. I want people to stop dodging the question. I want people to stop telling me how good I look. I want people to stop showing me pictures of their kids. I want the guys to stay at the table and talk instead of step into the lobby to watch the game. I want people to stop being afraid of me. Afraid for the children to be around me. I want the hot football jock from High School to treat me the way he did when he didn't know. I want my outfit to not stand out. I want people to not care. I want people to stop hating, judging, over-thinking. I want to stop being the Side Show attraction at very low budget, dirty and dingy carnival.

Reply All

Thank you for your email.

Brief and to the point.

But a moment out of your day, albeit fleeting, that you took to think of someone else.

These gestures are energizing.

Why go through life shrugging our shoulders, flipping our wrists or rolling our eyes? These gestures will not move us or anyone forward. When three simple sentences or a hug can motivate the change we wish to be in the world.

Sit up straight today.

Lying

My ipod was discovered one week later.

I won't even speculate as to why it was gone and suddenly appeared in a random drawer at work. Somebody is lying.

But, thank goodness it is back, because now I can really lie on my sofa and add a melancholy soundtrack to my uneventful days. All the while picking up my phone and emails, only to lie to my friends and family about my busy day.

12 hours later, I can rip the earphones from my ears toss them on the coffee table and lie to myself about how I am not depressed. How I am not unhappy. How this too shall pass. It's only a phase.

"I am just tired. Overworked. " I tell myself.

I lie in my bed, lying to boys, lying to friends, lying alone. I get up only to move to another place where I can lie and possibly create new and more interesting lies.

I lie back and touch myself. My fantasy lies to me. I lie on my back lying about the pleasure I am forcefully trying to experience.

The second movie I watch ends with the lead actor documenting hundreds of people's answer to the same question.

"What do you believe to be an absolute TRUTH?"