Here’s to New Year’s Eve plans that don’t wind up panning out. This year, I was presented a variety of options:
- a 24-hour movie marathon
- a night of
homophobiafun with my brothers and some friends - dinner and partying at a gay bar with a bunch of gay friends
All were such tempting and juicy options. Oh, but to pick the one best way to end the year 2007 and ring in the oh-eight. Remembering that this is the one and only chance for me to celebrate this occasion, forever, it was important to consider all my options.
Re: movie marathon - I spent two days confined to my apartment in a haze of fever and sickness. And because I wasn’t able to utilize any of my brain cells in such a state, I watched movies pretty much the entire time. I’ll pass on that one.
Re: “night of fun” - To start, most of the discussion of the evening would, given past precedent, involve talking about how much fun you’ve had tonight while you’re still at the party. When not talking about all of said fun, topics will shift between all the “hot girls” everywhere and the latest and greatest jokes that involve gay guys on barstools. Raucous laughter will, of course, ensue. This one didn’t even make it to the top ten for the decision making process. Pity.
Re: totally gay new year! - Dinner at Macaroni Grill and then hanging out at a local gay bar afterward. The best part about this deal: I could spend the evening with my partner, and we could enjoy the company of friends. Bingo.
But WAIT! There’s a fourth option:
- relax at home with your honey!
Given the above mentioned options, and taking into consideration the fact that I’m still recovering from, uh, the flu, I opted for this fourth choice. A nice rich Italian food dinner, followed by a few hours in nice, loud bar just didn’t seem to be, how you say, “what the doctor ordered.” Another time, perhaps. Because hey, New Year’s isn’t the only time of year to celebrate.
So, how has my New Year’s Eve gone? Like this: relaxing at home watching The Twilight Zone with Robert. Going to dinner at a local coffee shop/restaurant. Eating about one-third of my meal. (Which, by the way, only took me, like, an hour.) Going back home. Thawing out. Relaxing some more.
Indeed, with the exception of the extremely cold temperature outside, a truly fabulous evening. Granted, last year we had about two feet of snow on the ground, so in some ways, this is preferable. But. According to weather reports, it was 29 degrees outside when we were out. Which is totally impossible. My chattering teeth and shivering body probably would have provided a more reliable reading of the temperature. Maybe something in the vicinity of, oh, I don’t know, Zero Kelvin.
Am I excited for 2008? Absolutely. It brings with it the promise of newness, school of the graduate variety, love that will continue to grow, and much more. I’ll not drink to all that tonight, but I will at some point in the near future.
And, gradually, I’ve started to feel less like my head is stuck in a vice. And my body actually feels like it wants food, having previously rejected just about everything I introduced. And my energy level has risen so that I can write more than a few sentences at a time.
I’ve watched a plethora of movies over the past two days. I’ve spent more time curled up on the couch over the past two days than I have in probably the last month and a half. Over the past two days, I’ve eaten enough food to satisfy the appetite for the average hamster. And over the last 24 hours or so, I’ve consumed about 3/4 of a gallon worth of Gatorade.
Hence why I became a hermit, too weak to face the world outside. Robert came and rescued me today, though, by taking me to the grocery. It only took me an hour to traverse the whole store. I pushed the shopping cart around and gave new meaning to poor response time, as I dragged my ass around the store and skirted collisions with whole displays only after Robert called it to my attention and helped pull me away.
But such are the signs of improvement for yours truly. I had some vegetable broth and crackers a mere hour ago, and already I’m starting to feel pangs of hunger. With any luck, I’ll actually sleep through the night tonight, and will get to ring in the new year a healthier, and much happier, Phil.
Application to graduate school. Check. Acceptance to graduate school. Check. Going insane trying to get everything set up for graduate school. Check.
Today’s fun: now that Christmas is officially over, I feel compelled to get in touch with people in an effort to find a place to live. Round one and I’m down for the count. Majorly.
- I check the university listings for nearby off-campus housing.
- I find a cool-sounding deal.
- I respond to said cool-sounding deal.
- I run screaming away from said cool-sounding deal.
My very first response to a listing gives me pause. Makes me think about just how much there is to consider when looking for a room to rent/a roommate. Gone, during said first response (over the phone), is the idea that the only things that matter is a decent place for a decent price, and good amenities and conveniences. Nay, there’s more: one must be able to maintain one’s sanity.
What’s the lesson learned here? That not everything that looks great in writing will end up being that great in reality. How did I learn this? By spending half an hour on the phone today with someone who’s probably borderline certifiable. In that short time, this complete stranger revealed to me the following information. Let me point out here that he considered this a very abridged version of his tale (”I would probably tell you way more if you wind up rooming with me”). Which is, to say the least, fucking scary. Okay. Here’s what I learned:
He’s Jewish and extremely judgmental. As in, he judges every man and woman he sees by their appearance, and whether he deems them to be “ugly” or “beautiful.” It’s just his nature. And he’s totally straight. One hundred percent, right? Like, he only likes girls. But this one time, there was this, not to be insensitive or anything, very aggressive Latino guy who was *ahem* gay, and who was very pushy. And this guy, this good straight Jewish guy, is really nice to everyone, and just as a way of being nice to people, likes to give them back rubs. So this one time, after giving this *ahem* gay guy a back rub, the *ahem* gay guy decides it’s his turn to do the massage (on the Jewish rental guy’s bed, no less). And it turns out the *ahem* gay guy winds up going for the you-know-where region, which is totally uncomfortable but yet kind of invigorating, so he totally gets the best of him. So this totally straight Jewish guy is suddenly very confused, and doesn’t actually know any more if he’s fully straight. Well, he knows, but he doesn’t really know, see? And it’s all this aggressive *ahem* gay guy’s fault, for leaving him confused about his sexuality. And maybe, if you wind up rooming with him, you might be good gay therapy for him.
I’m not sure what form of “therapy” the guy had in mind when he said that, but I knew one thing immediately: No. Fucking. Way. Will. I. Be. Rooming. With. This. Wacko.
At least that was an easy decision to make. Moving right along.
In the spirit of continuing to chronicle the holidays as I experience them this year, it’s time for the “Day After Christmas” installment, wherein I discover that if there’s any day that can be considered the WORST day to do any shopping, it would be precisely on this day every year: December 26.*
Whereas the intent of my shopping was to go in search of 2008 calendars (yearly tradition: half-priced calendars are a good thing), find some little Betty Boop letters for my desk, and to hit the grocery to replenish my nearly fully depleted food supply, other people go shopping for two reasons:
- Returning unwanted Christmas gifts
- Checking out more huge sales
I have two words to describe the malls: Oy. Vay. People were everywhere. I usually like to go and look around, and more or less just window shop. I couldn’t even do that. It got to the point that I found myself missing the usually crowd that frequents the mall just to walk up and down, loitering here and there just because it’s the cool thing to do. To hang out at the mall. At least then I can actually walk into stores and not want to tossing things from the aisles because it’s impossible to move through the aisles or even look at what there is to see.
So. Long story short. I got what I was looking for. Offers of fabulous sales did not, in fact, entice me to make any companies less whiney about their “drops in sales.” I did, however, finally find a set of cool clip on sunglass frames for my glasses. Which means not only can I now see to drive: I can even see to drive in broad daylight! It’s awesome.
*If you read carefully, you’ll notice that my introductory paragraph to this blog entry is, in fact, a single, long-ass, sentence.
- A little reflection…
Historically speaking, I usually spend Christmas in the fine state of Louisiana. There, I visit the extended family that does celebrate the holiday. Which means that every non-Jewish family member would get gifts, and I would gorge myself on all the food at each house we’d visit. Was this a problem for me? Not really, no. The problem was related more to a sense of belonging than anything else.
Simply put, I was surrounded by dozens of people at any given time. Family, no less. Those moments, especially those of the past two or three years, were among the loneliest I have ever experienced. Countless hours spent on the road, driving at least eight hours at a time, to visit family. People I saw at most three or four times each year. People I barely knew. People who expected me to behave as they do, to share their interests, and eagerly watched you grow, in the hopes that you’d become a man’s man, and meet a beautiful girl to marry.
Extended family is great, and visiting is always fun. But all I can remember of the past few years is sitting in the car, driving from place to place. Always attempting to lose myself in a good book, good music. Anything to keep my mind from wandering, and especially to keep from having to partake in the “male bonding” of my siblings. Ironically enough, leave it to the gay brother to be the only one who doesn’t enjoy crocheting blankets to pass the time on the road. I lost count of how many times I got lectured by my brothers, telling me that I needed to go buy some yarn and get to work. The concept that I didn’t enjoy it was lost on them. We were all of us expected to be the same. To enjoy the same things. And if, by chance, you differed, expect to be ostracized.
For the last few years, I realized more and more exactly who I was, and what it was I wanted (which was generally very different from what they wanted). I took it in stride, though. Last year, just prior to leaving on the big trip, I came out to my family. Support was offered, sort of. As in: “Yay! You finally told us what we already knew. Now, as long as you don’t actually act gay, we’re perfectly okay with it.” I went on the trip one more time. And it was probably one of the most stressful experiences I’ve ever had.
- Fast forward to present…
I just experienced the most wonderful Christmas day of my entire life. I was not surrounded by dozens of family members. But I was not alone. I spent most of the day with my partner. Waking up with him, lounging around all morning together, exchanging late Chanukah and Yule gifts, taking pictures in the hopes of capturing even a sliver of the magic.
Going to lunch at a crowded IHOP. Waiting half an hour to get seated and then enjoy a nice lunch together. In the later afternoon and on into the evening, going over to a friend’s house to enjoy dinner and good company. Robert replete with Santa hat. Me in an Elf hat. Trying to blink away the little silver square that appears every time I blink following the flash of a camera.
Not wanting the day to end. Spending the remainder of the evening with Robert, exhausted but blissful. Looking into his eyes. Losing myself. Falling even more in love. After all the gifts, the activity, the company, the chatter, I know what is the greatest gift of all. Grinning from ear to ear. Literally.
I have two words to describe the state of affairs of every single parking lot in this city: fucking insane.
What do you expect, though, right? It’s that time of year: the time when procrastinators and bargain hunters alike take to the streets in search of the elusive “perfect gift.” Which, by the way, doesn’t exist at the moment, because everything (and I mean everything) is picked over. I know this because I saw the crazed look on this one woman’s face in Target as she went racing through the aisles clutching a box containing some form of kitchen appliance. The gritted teeth, the grimace, the white knuckles. And the trail of like three other people asking her where she had found it.
And do I dare mention the parking lots? I couldn’t tell if I was in England, because of all the cars driving on the left side of the road, or if the traffic jams all over the parking lot meant that I was back in Los Angeles.
People, people, people. It’s Albuquerque! Do we honestly need all the SUVs? I’m becoming continually more offended by the damn things. It’s bad enough dealing with the asshole drivers who think they can drive them like sports cars. But the double-parking in compact parking spaces so that not only were two parking spots taken up, but the cars’ fucking asses rear bumpers were taking up half the lane. Bitches.
Next order of business. I have two words to describe Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, which Robert and I went to see this afternoon: fucking amazing.
Johnny Depp is amazing. Helena Bonham Carter is brilliant. The whole movie is a serious adrenaline rush. The music is intense, the lyrics are impossibly fast, the story hooks you and it’s impossible not to get completely caught up in it. The darkness on the screen haunts you, and yet makes you feel like a part of the movie. You feel like you shouldn’t actually be there, but can’t tear yourself away, can’t leave even though these people’s lives are none of your business. You’re a witness, and at times want to shout out what you know, or what you’ve seen, to the unsuspecting characters on screen.
Robert mentioned going back to see it a second, and maybe a third, time, and I have every intention of joining him. It’s that good. Although I have to admit, the prospect of going to the barber soon is much more daunting now than it was yesterday. Even though they’re not always perfect, it’s at least a good thing Supercuts doesn’t use straight razors.
I learned a few lessons this evening while in the presence of the familial unit. Some said lessons are broadly applicable to life, while others apply to this one area of my life.
- Consuming alcohol in the presence of my folks is the best way to handle these people.
- Trying to make light about something “gay” does nothing to help ease their comfort with the subject. It does just the opposite. Suddenly, gay-bashing jokes abound, choruses of “ewww” are heard, and yours truly is shocked even more by the homophobia that ensues. Can you say “awkward”? Can you say “uncomfortable”? Can you say “hateful and inappropriate”?
- Family members say “I’ll visit you” as if you’ve already invited them to wherever it is you may be. Must think of a tactful way to avoid such unwanted visits. Maybe I’ll try “I don’t want you to visit me” and leave it at that.
The beer did its job, though. I’m in considerably better spirits than I usually am after family functions these days. I give thanks to you, Blue Moon. I am ever so grateful.
- Food Coma: (n) the state of being resulting from the consumption of copious amounts of foodstuffs in a short period of time, results and side effects which include, but are not limited to, drowsiness, sluggishness, slowed functioning of the brain and musculature, causing walking to become shuffling, delays in communication, and the desire to think only about said devoured food
Yes, indeed. I am currently in a food coma. And why yes! My typing speed has been cut in half. This particular food coma is the direct result of an excellent staff holiday dinner gathering secret santa dinner. At an amazing Italian restaurant. Where food, once it appeared, just seemed to keep coming. Salad. Eggplant Parmigiana. Spaghetti. Bread and butter. Cheese Manicotti. Cheese Ravioli. Garlic Mashed Potatoes. Tiramisu!
My first time to ever eat Tiramisu. Waves of pleasure induced by the stuff. Heavenly. Fantastic.
My partner watches me. Smiles. Tells me he’s never seen me in such a food-drunken state*, and that it’s cute. I stop and smile back at him, letting his words sink in. And I smile back. A wonderful evening made perfect by such a touching observation. Bliss ensues. Ahhh…….
*These aren’t his precise words. They’re actually my own words, but they seem so fitting that I had to use them for the sake of my questionable literary prowess.
I made the mistake of going to the mall tonight. A final effort to finish out the Secret Santa extravaganza for the year. I headed over there about quarter to 8, and for some stupid reason found myself wondering if all the stores would be closing soon. When I pulled into the parking lot, however, I recognized my folly. Earth to the Jewish guy! Christmas is less than a week away. Oh yeah.
For the most part, the hour I spent in the mall was a fairly normal experience. The main difference between tonight and any average trip to the mall was mostly the sheer masses of people swarming the place. Oh, and maybe the ten-year-old kids I saw running around Spencer’s Gifts. I mean, really, what’s so unwholesome about a fourth-grader running around such a family-oriented environment? Chasing his sister around with a little plastic keychain which, every time you press the little button, says “Fuck you!”? Nothing, that’s what. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Followed by uncontrollable giggling. Meanwhile, mom is oblivious, as she’s too busy looking at a book of drinking sex games.
Now that’s what I call holiday spirit. Eat your heart out, Mike Huckabee.
An exciting piece of electronic mail arrived in my inbox today. An offer the likes of which entails a difficult decision. I’m left overwhelmed, torn in more ways than I’d care to be. Amid the happiness, I feel sadness. Amid the anticipation, I feel dread. Amid the excitement, I feel fear. Amid the confidence, I feel doubt. Nowhere do I see a place for “I don’t know.”
Through it all, I feel love. And I hold on tightly, for without it I won’t make it. For today, I leave it at “I don’t know.” Love and time will guide me. Sleep beckons. Tomorrow is another day.
