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joey is
“Where’s Matt?” “Why isn’t Matt with you?” “What’s Matt doing tonight?” I realize that these questions shouldn’t annoy me, but they do, a little. Of course everyone would wonder why Matt didn’t come to Bruce’s party. But after the fifth person asked me where he was, it started to wear a little thin. Sometimes it came even before they said hello or asked how I was. Hmmph. As Marcy used to say, “I’m my own person, damnit.” Of course, that’s nothing compared with my grandmother, last weekend. When I had the audacity to show up at my mother’s house without him, she launched into this lecture about how I was going on vacation and then moving away, and so how could I leave him at home on a Saturday afternoon? My whole family then vowed to invite him to all the family functions they have, even when I’m no longer here. God help him. My grandmother also started lecturing me about all kinds of stuff in San Francisco, such as the horrible fog, and not being able to find anyplace to park my car. She doesn’t ask about the big things, like where the hell will I live and how will I get money… no, she’s worried about the fog. Yes, that’s my main concern. A little bit of moisture in the air. How ever will I cope. (Blow job face.)
So, where WAS Matt, you ask? Matt had to work and truth be told, didn’t particularly want to go to a gay dance club. So, I headed to the restaurant alone. We went to P.F. Chang’s in Beverly Hills for dinner. It’s one of Bruce’s favorite restaurants and it was pretty good. The lemon chicken (not fried, just cooked cubes of white chicken drizzled in lemon sauce) was good, but the lemon sauce over white rice was excellent. And my god, the chocolate cake was great. Thank god we shared it with ten people, or I would have eaten the whole thing in a New York minute and would never have been able to boogie the night away. I also had vegetable spring rolls, but they were too greasy. Some of the blended drinks had very bizarre flavors. Max’s drink tasted exactly like blended frozen chicken in peanut sauce. Amy’s tasted like a sex on the beach with crispy noodles and peanuts mixed in. And Danielle’s had the aftertaste of Guinness beer foam. The ingredients were listed right on the menu—perfectly normal combinations of fruit and liquor—so the resultant tastes are quite a mystery. They reminded us fondly of the last time we were in Vegas, and Tim ordered an iced tea that tasted like foliage. We named it “Iced Tree.” The guest list included the elusive Max, who was there with his “friend” Tamera. The last I heard, they weren’t dating, but they seemed a little cozy to me. Either way, Tamera is the explanation for Max’s sudden retreat from society. Matthew was there, too. He and I took a walk after dinner. As he put it, “So yesterday, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I found out my aunt has thyroid cancer. And now your fuckin’ leaving, and you didn’t even tell me.” Ouch. Excuse me, I have to go pack for my guilt trip. Actually, I pointed out that my moving was not as tragic as it seemed. He’s got a flexible schedule in between movies and stuff, and I will presumably be a lot more flexible up there than I am down here. So he can always come up for a week here and there. Once I told him that, he seemed happier with the situation. And he did say he’s happy and excited for me. We also talked about my relationship with Matt, and how it will be affected by the move. We basically came to the same conclusion—if we can’t make it through this, then we’re not gonna make it anyway. Matthew expressed concern that I’ll be learning and growing and evolving, and Matt won’t be. I hadn’t thought of it in that exact light, but the fact is that Matt doesn’t need to be living somewhere else to grow. He started growing when he moved out here, and living without me will be its own growth experience. He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I talked a little bit about long distance relationships with Brian (one of Bruce’s nine siblings) and Amy. I think I’ve mentioned them before. They’ve been together thirteen years, and haven’t been in the same state for the majority of those years—Brian went and got a couple of MBAs in business and health care management, and Amy is now a vet. A lot of schooling in different states. I guess they got sick of it after ten years or so, but they kept saying, “two years is NOTHING,” which made me feel reassured.
After dinner, we dispersed. Only a few of us went to the dance club afterwards: me, Danielle, Bruce and Phil. I’ve been to 80s night at this club before, and the music is always great, the margaritas are $1, and the cover charge is usually $2. Except for the fact that it’s on a weeknight, I’d love to go every week. Danielle HAS been going every week, and it shows. She knows more gay men than Bruce does. It was a constant—and I mean CONSTANT—stream of, “Hey Bob!” “Oh hey, sweetie.” “Mike! Lance! Peck! Toby!” “Danielle darling! Hey! You remember Ryan and Pete, right?” “Oh sure. Hey baby! Give me a smooch!” “And look over there! It’s Seth and Kenny! Hey guys!” Hug hug smooch smooch. I told her that she is without a doubt the biggest fag hag that has ever lived. Bruce agreed. “I tell everyone that you’re my best friend, and she’s my best fag hag.” I said, “Well, I’m a special fag hag, because I’ve actually had sex with you. I’m your shag hag.” The drunker we got, the funnier this got. We kept walking around and Danielle would introduce me as her wife, and Bruce would introduce me as his shag hag. I think we pretty much confused everyone with that one.
I don’t care for a few of Bruce’s friends, particularly the one who hosted the party Danielle and I went to a couple weeks ago. His name is Erich and he’s from Germany. I can’t really explain my distaste except that I immediately took a dislike to him when I met him. Like many gay men, he goes from “Hey, hello” to an immediate physical familiarity. I think it’s off putting to have your personal space invaded right off the bat, although Danielle doesn’t mind. And he’s always pouting and acting queeny… he’s like a real life, unfunny, version of Mango.
You may recall what an asshole Phil was being on Mardi Gras, right after he cheated on Bruce. Welcome to Phil is an asshole, part two. Without going into details and pissing myself off… he was angry at this other guy (for something stupid, of course) and in turn, took it out on Bruce by being irritable and grouchy. Thanks, Phil, for copping your usual bad attitude and ruining your boyfriend’s birthday. Bruce was bouncing around dancing like a drunken fool and having his usual happy-go-lucky fun, but he kept looking for Phil, and hugging Phil, and trying to get Phil to cheer up and dance and be affectionate. Phil, in turn, stood around with a scowl on his face, like he was doing Bruce a big fucking favor by not storming off in a huff and going straight home. Dick, dick,
DICK.
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What
I'm Reading:
The Killing Game. The relationship between the main characters is totally cliche and overwrought, but the central mystery is interesting.  pink eyeJournal Quote of the Day: “I can do dark. Yes I can. I just choose to be insipid and fey because it suits me like a Joe Boxer bathrobe. You reach a certain age, you begin to clown around. You reach a certain age, you begin to see the joke. That's the age I'm reaching for. ”Random Tidbit: Matthew was wearing a T-shirt from the movie he just finished working on, The Perfect Storm. I told him I had just read the book and he offered to get me a script. That will be cool, although I want to see the special effect waves. This book absolutely requires visuals to get a sense of the scale of it all..Work Days Left: 59Days Left Including Weekends and Cruises: 99 |
