me’s blog

I want to offer BIG THANKS to all of you who wished me a happy 2nd 29th birthday yesterday.  Words can’t say how warm and fuzzy I get inside with each and every text message or email or phone call I receive from you crazy people.  I love my friends, and it’s true what they say - you get what you give. 

I’m delighted to tell you that I had an undramatic yet full day closing out an undramatic yet full week in my undramatic yet full life.  I was off from work all of last week, and even though I wasn’t working, my week was packed.  My "vacation" began last Saturday and Sunday, the first two days of my new weekly DJ gig out at the Guess store in Tysons Corner, VA.  [If you haven't yet visited me there, come by and say hello any Saturday or Sunday from 2-7pm.]  Then Monday and Tuesday involved some long-overdue bathroom cleaning and general apartment "stuff" sorting, a process which I always seem to start and never seem to finish.

On Wednesday the 4th I had a blast white-water rafting with some friends out near Harpers Ferry, WV.  The day was almost as beautiful as our river guide Charlie, a shockingly only 18 year-old soccer player (yum!) blessed with dark, curly hair (yum!) and an aw-shucks straight-but-gay-friendly attitude (YUM!).  Then came the thunderstorm and the subsequent rush to the finish line to avoid being struck by lightning, which admittedly would have been a rather fitting demise for a raftful of gay men lusting after an 18 year-old.  Storm notwithstanding, it was a fun day start to finish.

Early Thursday morning I took the Chinatown bus to New York, caught up with one friend over lunch and another friend over dinner, and ended the night dancing with another friend at a gay bar in Chelsea called Splash.  My fondest memory of Splash is from the fall of 1998, when I went there while a student on the Duke In New York program.  Some drunk stranger shoved me onto the stage and I ended up in Splash’s weekly amateur strip contest.  Nine stacked-n-ripped Chelsea men and little scrawny me, me who NEVER takes my shirt off, me who would NEVER enter any kind of strip contest, standing there beet red and ready to die from embarrassment - or from the anvil I was hoping would fall on my head at any moment.  While the rest of the men thought they were hot shit and got off on the exhibitionism of it all, I laughed my way through the whole thing, covering my face in sheer incredulity that this was actually happening.  The crowd ate up my genuine humiliation, thanks in no small part to the drag queen hostess strongly egging them on.  She dubbed me "Chicken Little", which, as both of my faithful readers may recall, was not my first chicken-related nickname.  And then when she was suggestively positioning me and the other two final contestants to have us gyrate for 30 seconds in our undies as the final round of the competition, for some reason I let it slip that I could put both of my legs behind my head at the same time.  The crowd lost its collective shit, chanting "Chicken Little!  Chicken Little!"  Needless to say, I won the $250 prize that night.  Perhaps also needless to say, the $250 went up my nose by the end of the night.  This was just a few months into the first year of my drug career, while I was still in my coke phase.  Ahh, memories!

Moving on.  Friday morning I had brunch with my friend Darrah, a sparkling Elisabeth Shue-esque beauty I met in Durham the summer after my sophomore year at Duke.  Her West Village apartment became my crash pad for the frequent trips I would take to NYC during school breaks, and we had many great times talking on her stoop, hanging at Art Bar - I even wrote and recorded a song for her called "Box Of Glass".  Darrah kind of embodies New York for me, and she lives a life similar to the one I’ve always dreamed of living there.  Anyway, while brunching it dawned on us that we hadn’t seen each other in NINE YEARS, since my New York stint during the fall of 1998 mentioned above.  So I of course filled her in on the highlights of my drugalog, as well as the ongoing story of my recovery, and she of course was glad that I am still alive.  She also brought back a handful of memories from oh-so-long ago that I would have thought my drug-addled mind had completely forgotten.  That was truly a beautiful thing.  And without her even saying a word about it, I’m once again thinking about moving to New York.  The mere sight of Darrah’s stoop always plays that vicious Jedi mind trick on me.  Stoopid stoop.

I got home from New York on Friday night, DJ’d at Guess on Saturday, and then rested up for Sunday, the big 3-0.  The day started with an emotional standing ovation after my piano-playing debut as an accompanist for the incredible vocalists on the Metropolitan Community Church’s Praise Team.  Then I went out to Tysons to spin all afternoon, which is so great because I’m basically getting paid to loudly listen to whatever music I want all day long.  I love it!  And I ended up at the Bailer compound out in Camp Springs for a delicious home-cooked meal with the family and the Jackalyst.

Like I said, just another full day rounding out another full week in my full life.  I sure am a lucky old man.  It’s good to be old.  Especially since there were times when it didn’t look like I’d make it.  Now I’m gonna go home, strap on my Depends, settle into my rocking chair, and hit on younger men.  And maybe I’ll come up with some wise stories to share with you crazy young’uns.  ‘Cuz that’s what we old gay men do.  That, and identify with the Golden Girls. 

So watch out Dorothy Zbornak.  They may have called you Turkey Lurkey in high school, but there’s a new Chicken in town!

This entry was posted on Monday, July 9th, 2007 at 2:44 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.