TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD: WEEKEND IN SAN FRANCISCO

TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD: WEEKEND IN SAN FRANCISCO
  

I arrived in the City by the Bay first thing Saturday courtesy of Virgin; little did I know I wouldn’t be one after the night’s end. (Riiiiiiiight….)  Anyway, it started off like any great San Francisco weekend:catching up with old friends over burritos for lunch on in the Mission, making dinner with more old friends in the Haight, and drinks in the Castro.  
 

On Saturday night, I met up with some friends downtown who were at a Bear party.  Now, I’ve started to like guys with somewhat larger builds and body hair sometimes; I’ve also been putting on more muscle and sport some scruff myself. Still, I felt pretty out of place on a dance floor filled with sweaty men much larger than me. The Ecstasy pill my friend forced down my throat (okay, I may have aided by swallowing) helped make me feel a bit more comfortable.
  

I met a few interesting guys there, but there was one in particular who caught my eye toward the end of the night.  He was a compact but built redhead with a beard named Russell.  Now gingers usually aren’t my thing, but there was something hot about this one.  Our eyes met on the dance floor, and I eventually made my way over and introduced myself.  We danced together and made out for awhile.  When the club abruptly closed at 2AM, Russell took me to his place, which was near the ballpark.  
  

We entered Russell’s apartment, which was a tiny but very nice studio – blond hardwood floors, new cabinets and stainless steel appliances. He poured us both drinks, and we sat on the bed and talked for a bit.  I asked him what he did for a living.
  

“I’m a yoga cartographer.”
  

“A what now?” I asked.
  

“A yoga cartographer,” he repeated.
  

“So what, you’re charting the latitude and longitude of twisting your leg around your neck?

Russell laughed and explained that he was an out of work cartographer who taught a yoga class a couple times a week at the Y.
  

Oh.
  

After a few drinks and a little more small talk, Russell and I spent the next couple hours practicing our Downward Dog with each other. Boy, that was some good Downward Dog.
  

We wound up falling asleep in each other’s arms. When I awakened, it was already noon. Shit! I needed to get back to where I was staying, change clothes, and meet friends for a rooftop barbecue later in the day.
  

I shot right up and started getting dressed. Russell snuck up behind me and pulled me back into bed, and more Downward Dog ensued.
  

I finally got out of there and did my cab ride of shame back to my friend’s house.  I showered, threw some different clothes on, and went to meet up with my group in the Castro.  
  

We hopped in a cab and made our way toward the barbecue. I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were going. We were headed towards the ballpark, which was amusing because it’s where I’d trekked back from earlier.
  

The cab let us off at 4th & Branson, where we made a pit stop at the grocery store for snacks and drinks. Our ragtag bunch was following my friend Jonny, who knew the girl throwing the party.
  

We cut through an alley and turned onto a street that looked familiar.  Maybe I’d been over here when I briefly lived in SF a few years prior.  Maybe this was close to where I’d been last night/this morning.
  

“We’re here!” Jonny called out from ahead of us.  I looked up.
  

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. The barbecue was on the rooftop of the very building I’d been in just 12 hours earlier.
  

I immediately told my friends the story, and no one could believe the coincidence.  Of all the buildings in San Francisco, I’d been led back to this one.  Everyone told me I had to go say hi to this Russell guy, but I thought that would seem somewhat creepy/stalkerish.
  

After three drinks, I promptly went downstairs and knocked on Russell's door. He took awhile to answer, and his lights were still off. He thought the story was hilarious and invited me in.
  

He put on a sweater and pants, and we headed upstairs. He'd never met any of his neighbors in his two years in the building.
  

Once on the rooftop, I introduced Russell my friends, who made some not-so subtle comments about me coming back for seconds (thirds).  Russell was cordial, though the whole thing was a little awkward.  It was a strange twist to what had been a very random, crazy weekend by the Bay.  
  

Russell and I have spoken a few times since that weekend, but I doubt I’ll see him again.  As for the yoga cartography, well, I hope that’s working out for him.
  

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD: FRIENDS (WITHOUT BENEFITS)

Friends (Without Benefits)

I hooked up with Ben on a cold winter’s night, fishing him out of a crowd on the sidewalk outside Fiesta Cantina at 2am.  He was handsome, fun, and eager to please beneath the sheets.  

“You are THE best kisser,” Ben kept telling me.  I mean, I’ve placed several times at State Make out Competitions, but I’ve never gone to Nationals.  

A few weeks after we met, Ben texted me (we had exchanged numbers that night) and asked if I’d like to do that again or have dinner, or both.  I laughed and replied that I liked his vibe and that we should go to dinner.  

Over sliders and beers at 8oz Burger, Ben and I got to know each other better.  This Renaissance man had a Master’s in Education from an Ivy League school, ran marathons, and was an alternate on last summer’s Big Brother.  I wasn’t quite sure if I was feeling a love connection, but there was definitely something there.  He hadn’t lived in LA for too long and was just acclimating, making friends and getting to know the area.

A week later, Ben took me to one of his favorite chain restaurants down in Long Beach where we stuffed our faces with nachos and a flight of seven beers each.  Ben was a character; he engaged the waiter in all of our conversation and made the guy sit and have a beer with us.  I was having a blast, though I felt us settling into friend territory.  I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know how he felt about that.

Ben went away for a few weeks on business but called, texted and Facebooked a few times. When he sent a text trying to set date number three upon his return, I knew I had to say something.

I really didn’t want to jeopardize what could be an amazing friendship with this wonderful man.  Was I thinking too highly of myself that he’d be crushed if I put the kibosh on another date?  I decided to be honest, to go with my gut, and to tell Ben the truth:  

I had herpes.  

No!  Not really.  I texted Ben that I had met someone (sort of true at the time) but that I thought he was amazing and I wanted to hang out when he got back.   As soon as I sent the text, I wondered if that was worse, the fact that I had brought another fictional person into this.  But there was no going back after I pressed ‘send.’

Ben issued a pretty cold response about us needing to return books we loaned to each other once he was back in LA.  I figured that was probably the end of that, and I was sad.

A few weeks later, Ben messaged me about a TV show we were both into, and he suggested we grab a drink sometime.  We set a plan and met up with mutual friends one Tuesday night, and to my pleasant surprise, it didn’t feel awkward at all.  We ended up downing a couple pitchers of beer at Motherlode and then making our way to Rage, where several of the contestants from Rupaul’s Drag Race had gathered.  

Ben, a huge fan of the show, pulled me aside and told me that his favorite dancer, Raja, was there and that we had to gush over her.  

“But I haven’t been watching the show!” I protested.  

“Just do your best,” he said, tugging on my arm.

We rushed over to Raja.  Ben introduced us (as if he knew her intimately) and let her know how much she was loved.  The booze must have started kicking in because I was suddenly all over this contestant.

“Raja!!  Raja!!  I can’t tell you how much your last performance moved me….I have never cried so hard in my life!  We love you so much!!!” I went on.  Even Ben was impressed that I – the more reserved one of the two of us – would go to these lengths.  Raja was touched.

“And I can hardly see your Adam’s apple!” I added.  Luckily, she laughed that off; I knew I’d probably gone to far enough lengths at that point.

I took Ben to a taping of the show I work on the next week, and we began having TV nights and other hangouts regularly.  He even asked me to serve on a panel with another friend of his (and a celebrity guest) to set him up on a date the other night.  I was just touched that Ben would trust me with such a decision, especially considering the way in which we met.  

The guy that the panel and I selected turned out to be a phenomenal match.  Ben called me after the date and we talked for hours about the experience and about how wonderful the date had gone.  

It just goes to show that when you meet someone, whether it’s a date, a hookup, or just someone in passing, you never know where it’s going to take you.  Ben and I went from one-night stand to semi-awkward dates to extraordinarily good friends.  

How often do you get that from someone you met at a Sidewalk Sale?

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD: QUARTER-LESS CRISIS

Quarter-Less Crisis

I was looking through my phone contacts the other day when I came across one that baffled me for a moment:  Jason Cheapass.  Was that a French last name misspelled….Cheapasse?  Chepasse?  It suddenly dawned on me that this was a guy I’d hung out with once last year and dubbed “Jason Cheap Ass.”

 

I had briefly met Jason at a mutual friend’s 30th birthday, and we became reacquainted months later when he hit me up on Grindr.   Jason was a big flirt right off the bat, and he was a good looking guy, so we made arrangements to hang out the following week.  

  

The morning of our plans Jason texted me, asking if we could do a TV and drinks night at his place since he was short on cash.  That sounded fine to me.  I brought a bottle of Grey Goose I’d gotten as a birthday gift over to his apartment, which was just a few blocks from mine.

 

Jason immediately poured us a couple of very potent vodka sodas, and they kept coming as we watched Dancing with the Stars and played with his puppy.  We were getting a little buzzed and having a good time making fun of the contestants (this was the Bristol Palin edition, after all).  I put my arm around him at some point, and as the drinks kept coming, we cuddled closer until I leaned over to kiss him.   I don’t know if it was the vodka, the lack of A/C in his apartment or Jennifer Grey’s fancy footwork, but we started making out voraciously for the duration of the two hour show.  

 

At one point, Jason rolled me over onto my back on the sofa.  I landed on a hard metal object which jabbed me in my lower back.  I reached underneath my back to extract a quarter.  Not thinking much of it and still going at it, I chucked the coin a few feet away so that neither of us would land on it again.   Jason saw the coin fly through the air and threw me off of him.

“What was that???  Was that change??” he cried, bolting to his feet.

“Oh yeah, I landed on a quarter.”

“A QUARTER???  What’d you do with it?  Did you take it?!!”   

Jesus Christ, was this kid serious?  

“No, I tossed onto the table,” I said.  “Here, it couldn’t have gone far.”  

Jason had already turned over the couch cushions and dropped to the floor in search of the precious metal.   I could think of a much better reason for him to be on his knees at this point in the date….but, yeah, I got swooped up into his hysteria and started frantically looking as well.

 

“You don’t understand,” he said, “I only have $1.82 in my bank account until I get paid on Thursday!!!”

Look, I get living frugally and having cash flow problems, but there’s really no need for me to know to the penny how much money one has or doesn’t have to one’s name.   I guess I can’t ignore the fact that this quarter was going to put Jason over the two dollar mark.

“I FOUND IT!!!!” he squealed, fishing it out from underneath the coffee table.   He was grinning ear-to-ear and ran to deposit it into his wallet.  At this point, the whole experience had sobered me up; I grabbed my belongings and got the hell out of there, even leaving my precious vodka behind.   He probably needed it more than I did.

 

A few days later, Jason messaged me on Grindr and thanked me for a lovely time.  He apologized for finishing my booze but suggested we hang out again soon, especially now that he had been paid.  I agreed, mostly because I wanted him to throw another financially-related tantrum.  What if I planted a Sacajawea on his window sill and brought it to his attention just before *inadvertently* knocking it out the window?  I’m evil.

Jason and I made plans to hang out a few days later.  I texted him as I was getting off work to see what was up.  

“I want to hang, but I only have $1.65 until I’m paid on Thursday,” he replied.  Again?  This was too rich to pass up.

“Didn’t I see on Facebook that you went to Gay Days at Disneyland last weekend?” I texted back.  

“Everything was paid for by others.”  

I scratched my head; this 28 year-old man with a job, his own apartment and a dog, is continually down to a dollar and change and happy to broadcast it to the world.  At this point, spending time with him just to get a story was no longer enticing.  I told him we’d just hang out another time.  

 

I happened to run into Jason a few months later in the bathroom at Motherlode.  He gave me a dirty look.  I’d been drinking, so I started harassing him.  

“Oh hey Jason…..what, are the drinks $1.82 tonight?  Is that why you’re out?”  

He walked up and shoved me a little.

“What’s your problem, dude?  Is this just because I never asked you out again?”  

I shoved him back.

“You flipped out on me over a fucking quarter.  Go take your $1.40-whatever and fuck yourself.”  I walked out of the tiny bathroom.

“You know, you’re not that cute anyway!” he cried.

 

What a bizarre window into this guy’s life this had been, not to mention hands-down one of the strangest dates I’ve ever had.  Never tell anyone exactly how much money you have to your name; that’s just tacky. One man’s quarter is another man’s $100 bill, I suppose.  

Oh, I do know Jason’s last name, but at the time, I thought “Cheap Ass” was a much more fitting description in my phone.

 

ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.

TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD: SOCIAL NETWORKING (MINUS JESSE EISENBERG)

SOCIAL NETWORKING (MINUS JESSE EISENBERG)

Dating and/or hooking up online can be a nice way to pass the time or boost one’s ego.  However, there are some rules I’d like to lay out that I wish everyone would follow:

• DO put up a face picture or at least have one readily available.  It’s 2011, people.  A nice torso is meaningless if there’s nothing attached to it.  Also, profile pics of landscapes are just lame.

• DON’T only post photos of yourself in hats and/or sunglasses.  That receding hairline and those crow’s feet are going to come out eventually.

• DO include your age (and the right one at that).  Shaving a few years off can be tempting, but save yourself the embarrassment of being questioned later or having to break the news yourself.  Not including your age makes you look like you have something to hide.

• DON’T specify that you’re only into a certain ethnicity in your profile.  Everyone is entitled to a preference but spelling it out reads as hateful and just tacky.

• DO be reasonable in your expectations.  Not everyone is going to respond to you, just like you (most likely) won’t respond to everyone.  It’s not a dinner party in someone’s living room; it’s the wonderfully grey area of the internet.

 ABOUT: TALES OF WEST HOLLYWOOD

 Seeking a change in his life, the author moved to his own apartment in West Hollywood in 2008.  The column is a look at the life of this single 29 year-old who's enjoying his life while casually looking for Mr. Right…or Mr. Right Now.