R.B. Winters's Blog: Rent (minus) Control, page 15
February 2, 2014
Don’t Let Me Stop You
There are first dates that go bad. There are first dates that go great. Then there are the first dates that don’t really go anywhere. One day, repeat one day ago, I had a first date with a guy. Mind you, I forgave the fact that the day before on our first half date he tried sticking a hand down my pants, I didn’t judge or even hold it against him. I figured it was a drunken lapse in judgement.
But I was oh so very wrong. Tonight I met the Animator and his boyfriend for a drink which landed us at the 9th Avenue Saloon. A complete shit-hole bar with cheap drinks. Not five feet away from me was my date from the night before, hanging all over another guy.
Initially I wasn’t sure it was him. I had to take a second, even third look to be sure. Then we made direct eye contact, he leaned in to his date to say something, and I knew it was him. The next hour I only looked from the corner of my eye, not letting them see me glancing, my date and his new date looking over every few minutes. Not only did he not feel any need to hide the date, but he was apparently rubbing it all up in my face.
I was cool, calm and collected, which took every bit of effort I could muster. I walked by them once to visit the restroom, nodding my head to acknowledge them and be polite. I have manners. They continued kissing and groping. That’s all fine, but is this what is happening when the guy never calls you back? He moves on so fast he’s practically fucking a stranger in a bar the day after?
The only lesson I learned from this is that I truly have terrible taste in guys. I deleted every phone number I’ve collected in the past year, including all text messages to ensure I can’t have any repeat mistakes. It’s time for a fresh start.
February 1, 2014
Leap, Don’t Look.
A friend asked me the other day what I thought about her making the move from the West to East Coast. Providing, what I thought to be, logical advice, I suggested paying off debt, saving a few dollars and finding a place to live before taking the leap. All wise decisions, none of which were things implemented when I moved to the East Coast. In fact, the overall risk taking in my life is at an all time low.
At age eighteen, I was evicted from a bar in Pennsylvania because I refused to pull up my pants. Underwear covered the goods, but my jeans were around my ankles and I was working the pole to the best of my abilities. In contrast, my “date” last night, tried to put his hand down the front of my pants. I calmly stopped the frisking, finished my drink and made my way to a cab.
At twenty-one, my best friend helped me achieve alcohol poisoning. This resulted in me jumping from a moving vehicle, it wasn’t going all that fast, laying on the sidewalk of a park often frequented by homeless. Vomiting all across said park, vomiting in the ladies room of a straight bar, vomiting in a car, and eventually blacking out on a random sofa while being checked every so often to ensure I wasn’t choking on vomit or anything else. Now, I’m happy to have a few drinks and go to bed.
At twenty-two, I packed my car with as many possessions as would fit, hugged my friends and family, leaving everything for the big-city-life I craved. This the biggest risk I’ve ever taken; two-hundred dollars in my pocket, no place to live and no real plan. I was just taking the leap and hoping things would somehow come together.
Seven years later, things have come together and I’ve become comfortable in my life. Now, the smallest things are causing unparalleled fear and anxiety. After living in one apartment for three years, I have to move. It’s like the rug has been pulled from under me, even though I had to do the pulling, and the uncertainty that once drove me to try harder, work harder, now makes me apprehensive. My apartment is the one thing that’s mine and letting it go, even if the next apartment is better, reminds me of being twenty-two and having no idea what’s going to happen, where I’m going or how to get there.
So, should my friend take the risk and move? Yes. Could I do the same thing today? I’m not sure I have the bravery left in me to take the giant life leaps that were once no question. With age they say comes wisdom, but I’m beginning to wonder if the only thing that comes with age is more fear and less risks.
January 29, 2014
Book Giveaway
January 18, 2014
Missed Calls
There are innumerable ways to communicate. Most people update a handful of social networks each day with blurbs, photos and commentary. From conference tables to the masses, marketers have crammed the idea down our throats that we must always be connected to everyone at every second of the day. And we have all bought into the concept and propelled it forward to a point where there is no way to disconnect without a fear that we will evaporate.
There is one communication method that has fallen upon dark times and is only utilized by the youngest and oldest, completely overlooked by the middle: The Phone Call. With smart phones all social networks provide applications that connect with a user’s fingertips. Text messages capture words and catapult them between cellular towers without forcing the individual to miss a beat, but perhaps a few steps as eyes are always down and never looking beyond the plastic at hand.
This explanation is not a gripe on our connectivity, but a clear picture of how someone is likely to communicate today. Phone calls in my mind are only acceptable when on the clock and a person is being paid to communicate in this archaic manner. Between headsets and phones so small you can’t hold them with a shoulder, there’s no physically comfortable way to have a phone conversation and generally they are unnecessarily drawn out versions of what could be said in ten words or less by text.
Over the past two weeks I’ve had a couple of dates with West. Classic nice guy, tells you he likes you, you’re pretty, the usual. All of which rolls off my back as people usually don’t mean these things, at least my cynicism can’t accept that anyone would. When he called last night I didn’t pick up the phone. A text message conversation ensued and ended with West sharing that he was “disappointed” and surprised by my “immaturity.”
In a rare twist, I didn’t respond and allowed him to have the last word. I was surprised at the sudden anger over avoiding a call. Yes, I was technically home and could have answered. But my goal was to finish writing a chapter not become entangled in a conversation. Possibly an immature move on my part, that opinion I can’t change, but from my perspective the call should have never happened. At the end of our first date I stated, ” Always text, I never answer the phone.” This may have been taken in jest but I was entirely serious.
But it was the end of West’s lengthy message that makes me think this isn’t entirely about me not answering a call and more about me not putting out. I’m no virgin, but there’s no reason that anyone must sleep with someone on the first, second or third date. True, by gay standards I can sleep with you before any date or without one ever taking place. But if you really are the nice guy, and if you really want the relationship [these are assessments on West] then why would you want to jump into the sack? Yes, test drive the car before you commit, but take a moment to find out what you’ll be test driving first.
West will go down in the books as another guy to come and go, but as for me, I’m happy to report that’s not a statement he can apply here.
Michelle Branch gets it:
January 13, 2014
The Opt Out
Why Don’t People Stop Us?
There are things we like and things we don’t like. Some of us have a longer list of things we don’t like than others. A major dislike that falls on to my list of unpleasurable conversation topics is children.
My friend and former roomie, Lacee, was in town this past week. We had a great time sitting on my sofa, watching bad movies and drinking wine for most of her trip. We saw each other for about an hour in November during my trip to Utah, but this was the first prolonged period together in nearly a year. There were a few brief moments when we broke free of the sofa cushions and ventured out, hitting up Studio Square for beer and terrible sangria, even a handful of trips to Starbucks were had. Yes, a successful trip, even if we couldn’t continue our tradition of tattooing.
There was one area of the trip that I was mute to, and that was the topic of children. Lacee has two kids that she obviously loves and like any parent with small children, she wants to show you photos, videos and talk about them. But when you show me photos of your kids there’s nothing for me to say. I don’t think any child is cute. I see mess makers, screaming sirens and a pest that should be shipped off to boarding school and brought back at age eighteen.
This is just one example, I’m sure certain topics I love to obsess over [dating] annoy the hell out of my friends. This is why we need a conversation opt out. The same way you check a button when you’re sick of receiving emails for Viagra every morning. A point where you hold up your hand, halt the conversation and opt out. Forcing the talker to either move to the next topic or relinquish control of the conversation to the party putting the opt out into action.
The caveat would be that we all need to buy in to the idea. This way no one is offended and we’re able to sidestep the awkward admission that you really don’t give a shit and can’t take hearing about something any longer. If you’re like me, you’ll let your friend go on about the subject until you rudely cut him or her off, or just walk into another room so you can drown out the joyous inflection of his or her voice.
So, next time you hit a bumpy topic, just cut it off at the knees by opting out. Eventually it will catch on or you’ll see a lot of disgruntled guys getting smacked as they hold a hand up to their girlfriend’s face while asking her to stop speaking…which I’d enjoy watching.
January 4, 2014
State of Perpetual Fear
[image error]There are things we all fear, it’s part of our existence. The rational behind the things we fear is subjective and only relevant to the person. Coulrophobia (fear of clowns), Omphalophobia (fear of the navel), Nomophobia (fear of being without mobile phone coverage) and the list goes on forever.
The thing I’m most afraid of is the unknown, or even more specifically, the potentials that could come to be a reality. Let me explain. I’ve had a few dates with a guy I’ll refer to as West. A perfectly nice guy, fun to go out with, a little outside the gay norm, but overall a good catch. He is a relationship oriented person, so it would only make sense that his goal at the end of the day is a boyfriend.
When it comes to the question, “What are you looking for?” It’s clear he’s not asking if I’m interested in a generic hook-up, he’s asking if I’m looking for something long-term. This is one of those questions that I’m terrified and unsure of how to answer. The reason being, how do any of us know what we want?
Could someone better come along? Possibly. Could we live happily ever after? Possibly. Could we date for seven years and then one of us cheat resulting in a terrible break-up? Possibly. The options are endless, distracting and confusing.
With the numerous possibilities that could come fruition, and knowing that it doesn’t matter if the person is intrinsically good or bad, there is no safety net and it’s just a blind leap of faith. On the flip side, holding back and not making the decision at all appears to be the rational decision. If you abstain from answering the question and never define or decide what you are looking for, are you better off; safe? Or by not making the choice, do you end up on an endless path of ‘what-if’ questions that can never be answered because you never acted?
These are the questions rolling around in my mind at the breakfast table when this question is posed to me. And still, all these hours later, I cannot answer the question, because I have no answer.
So, I pose the question to all of the optimists, relationship oriented people and other risk takers: What are you looking for, why that, and how do you know?
December 25, 2013
Merry Christmas: Go to Hell
Each year I grow to like the holidays, especially Christmas, less and less. You might think this stems from some sort of tragic childhood experience, but in fact, Christmas was always pretty spectacular when I was little. The presents were always wrapped up in such a way that even a little looked like a lot. There was tons of paper, ribbons and bows on everything. Come to think of it, take all that, throw in a bar and some queens and we have a brand new drag show.
But my current distaste for Christmas comes from how we treat the holiday today. I’m all for the secular version that has nothing to do with religion. As adorable as baby Jesus probably was, I highly doubt he would be thrilled over us giving each other gifts instead of burning sacrificial lambs in his honor. Assuming he exists, but that’s a different debate.
Start with Facebook and every other social network. A few people post photos of their families which seems appropriate. The majority take the opportunity to shove more selfies down our throats and rub their overpriced gifts in your face. Feel that holiday spirit. The other half take photos of feasts that could feed a small country and in a week post how they are making a New Year’s resolution to lose weight and wish they hadn’t been such a pig during the holidays. To them I say, save us all from you, don’t waste the money on a gym membership and just hold out until February when your guilt will subside.
Then you go to Starbucks, or any other retail location, and like the barista today, they have to stop themselves from saying ‘Merry Christmas’ because it could offend someone. Instead they are forced to say ‘Happy Holidays’ to ensure that everyone is satisfied and there is no room for backlash to the company because a person that doesn’t celebrate Christmas was in the wrong place at the wrong time. On another tangent, why does no one get made if you wish them Happy Hanukkah instead of Happy Holidays? Just a thought.
I do give credit to the few people I know that actually take this time to visit their families. But as I continue to be disenchanted with all of the holidays, I can always count on the bars to be open to assist in ensuring people like myself have a reprieve from the rest of the world. Merry Christmas.
December 22, 2013
Verbal Terrorism
There are certain things another human being can say to you that throw you off track, shock you inside out, or even make your stomach churn as if about to vomit. Like when you mother randomly announces, “I’d like to see you settle down,” or when a friend in a relationship says, “You’ll find someone.” Everyone has a line of questioning they despise, but none of these compare to the question that unexpectedly came my way last night.
“Are you single?”
Three simple words, punctuated by an unpleasant inflection of hope, sadness and desperation. The question master was a very nice young man from a wet Northwestern state. Being brand new to New York, and coming from a place where people are likely to respond positively to this question, there was no way he could know that this was the number one thing I despised being asked.
When this question comes up, it’s always out of the blue by someone that knows little about you. Probably the reason they dare ask. So thrown off track, I can’t recall what we were discussing prior to that moment. Instantly, I was tongue-tied and began rambling in a desperate effort to change the subject and point the conversation in a direction that didn’t make me want to crawl under the table to avoid glaring eyes. My conversation rebound was awkward, uncomfortable and terribly obvious; as good as I could hope for while under pressure.
So, why does this question make me do mental cartwheels? It’s all of the strings attached to the question. The person asking is usually on the hunt for a relationship. If you admit that you’re single, then you’re opening the door for an advance. Not the worst thing in the world, but it also then encourages people to ask, “Why are you single?” This forces me to say mean things about myself, true depending on who you ask, in an effort to comically reduce stress and change the topic.
Knowing that my question master was new to the city, the question is like throwing out a life preserver and hoping someone will reel you in, saving you from the terror that is the first two years of life here. This question coming to me is like jumping out of a plane without your parachute; you’re going to crash and burn.
My uncomfortable state rubbed off and the next thing I knew we were both avoiding eye contact and trying to talk to other people around the table. A successful deflection of a loaded question. I’m sure it won’t be the last time it comes up in life, but hopefully there will always be an open bar near by to help the situation.
December 20, 2013
O Holy Hell
During the holiday season there are more activities available in a single night than at any other time of the year. And this weekend was no exception: Holiday show, holiday party and holiday bar discounts.
Larrymore, the Russian and I began the evening at the Jackie Beat show. The Russian had gone the year prior and knew the rest of us would appreciate the depraved humor, he was correct. As our hostess belted out dirty songs and cutting remarks the room was a continuous eruption of laughter. If you’re looking to make plans for next year be sure to check out the video at the bottom of the page – well worth the ticket price!
But after a drag queen’s show and two glasses of wine our trio was forced to forge ahead in the pelting snow to reach our next destination: HK House Party. Considering that is was snowing inside and out, I do recall we all had a good time. There was one short-lived appearance by Mr. Kitty. We weren’t able to talk, but he positioned himself outside the bathroom door at one point so we were face-to-face when I exited. Thinking it was funny, and knowing it would be awkward, as he spoke I leaned in until our noses were touching. It’s fun to watch what happens when you make people uncomfortable. Unless it’s me that’s uncomfortable, that I despise. Mr. Kitty and his friends left ten minutes later – though I don’t think it had anything to do with me.
After no time at all we migrated to the bar, soaked and looking like shit. But we were drunk and having a fantastic time. Now, when I’m sober I have the urge to text Late Night, but when I’m drunk I really have the urge and it’s usually uncontrollable. As luck would have it he wasn’t too far and was willing to stop by Industry. Ten drunk seconds after making this plan I started mentally shitting myself as I was putting Late Night, and both our friends in the same place. I enjoy living in this pretend world where I control everything, this was definitely a situation that I wouldn’t be able to manipulate. What if Late Night arrived and my friends hate him? What if Late Night hated my friends? What if a gay-turf-war-knife-fight broke out and there was a slew of casualties? Ok, that almost never happens, but you get the idea.
Late Night and his friends arrived, we did introductions and all was going well. Then I heard Late Night say to the Russian, “You know who I am, right?” This is the part where all the little tid bits I share here can flare up and burn off my eyebrows. Thank little baby Jesus that my friends are incredibly cool and Late Night takes my blog with a giant grain of salt. The panic began to subside, and my friends as well as Late Night’s had vanished, leaving us to make out in the corner. I actually felt bad about this, not because I care if anyone sees [other than friends], but Foxxy Business had been chastised the night before for doing the same thing. Now I was entering the slutty tongue club: shame. But again, once drunk there’s really no controlling my already questionable actions.
Surviving all of this, the night had one more plot twist in store, we all ended up at Late Night’s friends apartment. An amazing place on the forty-something floor of a new building. I recall mentioning it would be perfect to jump from if ever suicidal, it really would be, you’d hit the ground so fast there wouldn’t be time for a second thought. Just a fun fact for anyone on the hunt for a new apartment or location to leap.
And once the night truly wrapped up and we shuffled into cabs going opposite directions, I realized that even though I had no control over the evening once it was set in motion, it still turned out to be pretty spectacular…Christmas songs and all.
December 14, 2013
A John Waters’ Moment
A damaged signature from my favorite of messed up people.
There are certain celebrities, people, I become tongue tied and mentally impotent when we are face to face.
This affliction came into light a few years ago when the chance to meet Stevie Nicks arose. After waiting in a metal chair for seven long hours, she finally made her way to the stage to begin signing whatever was shoved in her face. The security team at Barnes & Noble, the epitome of a jelly doughnut and cola diet, were strict on allowing a hand shake and a question, followed by tossing your ass off the stage like the trash you are.
When it was finally my turn, she signed the album, shook my hand and stared at me. Awaiting whatever moronic thing or fan-lust compliment would fall out on the table with a flop. Much to my surprise, nothing came out. What can you possibly ask Stevie Nicks? Embarrassed, I hung my head in shame and shuffled off the stage.
My next celebrity encounter came while stuck in Baltimore around Christmas two years later. Snooping through mail I came across a local theater’s calendar of events. Wouldn’t you know, that night, Mink Stole, was putting on a Christmas special. If you don’t know who Mink Stole is please click here. I’ll wait for you…
At her show I got the chance to get on stage and get a present from her. A handmade present, mine a potholder [useless, the stove is dangerous and I never turn it on], that I lovingly keep in my freezer where it’s safe from all harm. At the end of the show my friend forced me to go up and say hello. Which was made even more difficult because John Waters had slipped in during the show and they were talking. This was worse than meeting Stevie because there were two of them and I idolized their filth. I can’t recall what I said, pretty sure it was something close to, “I’m obsessed with you.” They both shook my hand and then waited for me to slink away like a slobbering idiot.
John Waters and Lil Baby Jesus
Fast forward to last night and the Russian, Larrymore and I had tickets to John Waters’ Christmas Special. An hour of filthy dialogue that makes me think that I really need to put more effort into being verbally out of control. At the end, a Q&A where we should have asked questions. But again, what the hell do you ask the people you idolize? Rather than sound like a moron; there were many in the room [including a girl that asked about birthdays - I hate her], I kept my mouth closed. We didn’t get to directly meet John Waters, that cost more, but there were signed copies of his book in the lobby, which I happily purchased. I’m even happier with mine because the signature is flawed as the pen died halfway through…just like all good things.
Even though I can’t control my mind or force words from my mouth when faced with these people, I’m still obsessed with their odd creative works that only interest a niche group of people. The goal is to grow up [I'm aware by the world's standards I'm full grown] and follow in their unusual footsteps. Hopefully by that point I’ll be able to talk.
Rent (minus) Control
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