Cut the Shit

What up What UP? or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Atomic Bomb

JOEY is in the HOUSE!

Vacation = over! Which means this journal = ON!

I know that August has been a dismal month of posting
and for those of you who read me every day, a rather
disappointing website to commit to. I apologize. And
now we're friends again! Internet friends are so
easy.

Although I must say, I was gone for like 9 days and I
only got 6 comments telling me to have fun.
Considering my site meter, I'd say that the rest of
you are fickle ass bitches. Or that you have your own
life to attend to. Either way...F you.

I have two new sayings. One is "F you". Obviously.
Cuz why wouldn't it be? And the second is
"crazed". As in "You're crazed", "she's crazed", "the
engine in that souped up 78 Mustang is crazed". It's
pretty great and works as a rather nice segue into
another topic.

I'm crazed.

And now new topic!

So, first things first...my week in Provincetown
was...hmmm...how to sum up a whole week in one
word...Got it! My week in Provincetown was crazed.

Major beach time, major dinners at fancy, gay owned,
adorable restaurants, many nights out at the local
bars/clubs, and MUCH sleeping and eating and all out
relaxing.

I got a tan, but not too tan so as to rub it in
everyone's face. I ate the most amazing Rabbit soup
and had only one bowl of clam chowder which turned out
to be filthy water with pebbles. Go figure. But when
you're told that it's a "Zagat's Best Clam Chowder in
P-town" for 2004, you eat it. But let me tell
you...twat? I'm still picking out the gravel from my
molars.

I could bore you with each individual day and what we
did, but that would be super boring and unless I have
the pictures to go with the stories, you'd fall asleep
the minute I zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Fair enough.

Here's my best P-Town story:

Paul and I are walking down Commercial Street (the
main drag) and end up at the far end of it looking for
a bar to go to. At this point Paul and I had already
consumed many drinks, including a mini bottle of
champagne with a shot of Chamborde (?) in it.
BTW...hork. Too much. Champagne with a shot in
it...overload and it made me tongue kiss Paul in the
bar. And we actually got some odd stares, which is
odd to ME since right outside the window was a group
of old men dressed in French maid uniforms riding
mini-bikes. But we're the weird ones? Well alright!

So we're walking up the street and bitching at each
other about one thing or another when this woman walks
out of her bed and breakfast with two gay men
escorting her down the stairs. I don't take much
notice and neither does Paul. We continue to focus on
finding a bar without old men in French maid uniforms
when the woman walks up to us and stands directly in front of
me.

I look at her for a second and I say to Paul "Is that
Cyndi Lauper?" Paul laughs as do I since during the
day we also saw a "Lily Tomlin" a "Bette Midler" and a
"Ru Paul".

Within in moments the woman turns around and says "Yes
it IS Cyndi Lauper!" and gives me this fake appalled
look.

UM.

I BURST out laughing and go "Oh. My. God. My bad?
OMG!"

"It's ok honey" and with that she picks up the ukulele
(sp?) she's holding and starts strumming on it.
Within SECONDS, every gay man on the Eastern Coast of
Massachusetts flocked to where she was standing,
screaming "CYNDI!" "WE LOVE YOU" "CYNDI!" Paul and
I got shoved a few people back and we scowled. Get a
grip gay boys. SO uncouth.

Cyndi plays some sort of Hawaiian ukulele song and acting all fucked up
and cute. And by that I mean, she was cute, cuz she
IS cute, but she was fucked up cuz she WAS fucked up.
I took some lame cell phone video camera action and
Paul snapped away on his uber professional camera.
The boys screamed some more, I gave dirty looks and
elbowed them in the ribs and then she launched into
True Colors. I mean! At that point, my inner
fag came out and I let out a single "Yay Cyndi!". But
then I went back to being cool and reserved and
looking good.

She played her song rather unsuccessfully (cute, but
fucked up) and then walked down the street with the
swarm of gay bees following her. I kissed Paul and
said "That was pretty cool" and Paul responded with
"Those bitches are so annoying."

I couldn't agree more Paul. I couldn't agree more.

Uncouth, I tell you.

Other than that, Provincetown was fanfuckingtastic and
was the first time in Paul and my relationship (almost
7 years y'all) that we've held hands for a long
duration of time and most of all…without fear. If there's one place on earth to truly be yourself as a gay man, it's P, motherfucking,
town. I mean, San Francisco and Fire Island, of course. But
I didn't visit there this time, ok? Get off my nuts.

The whole week was perfect. Well, 80% perfect. Paul
and I had a few blowouts and that wasn't fun. But
oddly enough, they were rather necessary. Both of us
walked away from the week with a newfound respect for
the other person and after many "I love yous" and "I
wish we were here for two weeks rather than one",
we're in the best place we've ever been in our
relationship. Does that mean our problems are fixed
and we're now a happy and healthy functioning couple?
F you. Don't be ridiculous.

Paul was uber depressed to come back to NYC and spent
most of Sunday and Monday wallowing away in self-pity.
I was kind of jealous, cuz that's usually MY role to
fill. But oddly enough, I felt ok. For the first
time in a LONG time, I felt...ok. My life is stupid
and I don't feel accomplished and I NEED to find a new
job and an acting gig (or one of the two), but
overall, I feel...oh and k. Ok. It's a pleasant
feeling that I hope doesn't go away when I wake up
tomorrow morning and realize that the fairy tale is truly over.

But welcome back to New York! In a way...a WAY...I
was excited to come back to the city. As much as I
bitch and moan about the trials and tribulations of
being a city kid...er...man (I forgot I'm 29 now -
eeps), this place is my home and I rely on someone
asking me for change the minute I step outside my
apartment door. Of course I turned to them with my
ritzy tan face and said "Nah" and continued on my way,
but damn it felt good to be asked.

As I was walking out of the subway this evening, a
homeless guy, dressed in nothing but a loin cloth of
rags and also a shawl of rags (a SHAWL, people),
jumped on to an Asian woman's back and went through
the turnstile at the same time as her. Free ride for
the homeless. First I laughed (welcome back to NY!),
then I noticed that the woman's face indicated what
I would have felt had it been MY back - FINE that you want the free ride, but did you have to lay on my back so that your
dirty rags got all over my clean clothing?? I'm all
about helping out when I can (or feel like it), but do
I want to do it at the expense of my clothing? Never.
And also, that woman totally needs to go home and
shower. I mean, like for reals. Burn the clothes honey…might as well.

My job welcomed me back with open arms and that was
cute and all, but like Cyndi, it was fucked up. The
raise I got before my vacation (piddles - yet
retroactive to July 1st) has STILL not gone to
payroll. So yeah...welcome back Joe. We TOTALLY
missed you. Mind not getting your raise until
October?

F you.

I learned a few things while I was away.

First, I'm pretty hot. Like for reals hot. I KNOW!
I didn't realize it either! P-town was all about the
Joe and if I didn't have Paul there to cock block, I'd
totally be pregnant. Oh...did I tell you that the
median age of the community while we were there was 40
and that most of them were fat lesbians? I guess you
could say THAT'S why I was such a hot commodity, but I
prefer to think otherwise. Summary - it was a
confidence booster that I sorely needed.

Second, the people that live in P-town are the most
relaxed bunch of gays I've ever done seen. So many
times in the past I’ve thought "Give up your NYC bullshit and move to
a location where you can live happy and free and most
of all...comfortable." But then I'm reminded...is my
life supposed to be BIG or is my life supposed to be
big? My only hope is that I don't waste too much time
making the wrong decision.

Third, if there was any doubt in my mind that I didn't
love Tyler as much as I inherently should...being away
from him proved otherwise. My poor friend Tessa who
had to deal with my insane 3 page note of details
when I left...then the frantic phone calls...and
eventually...a calm that left me believing that she
had it all under control. When I got home I was
naturally nervous. No one's ever stayed in my
apartment for the week and no one's ever taken care of
my baby. I gotta say, she did both FLAWLESSLY. I'm
an anal retentive monster and I had to LOOK for any
sort of mess or disorganization. If it wasn't for the
wet towel hanging in the bathroom and the leftover Chinese
food, I would have fully believed she never took care
of my dog. Oddly enough, Tyler doesn't bark nearly as
much as he did when I left. Either Tessa beat the
fuck out of him whenever he opened his mouth, or she
actually got him to quiet down forever. I haven't figured out
which one yet. Probably the abuse. Tessa’s just like that. Which is why I left Tyler with her.

Did I eat Lobster on the trip? Not a bite. Paul and
I both remarked as to how embarrassing that was. But
on the flip side, did I eat any sort of pizza (those
of you who know me, know my LURVE for the peez). (peez = pizza) (God, you’re so high maintenance) Well, I kind of didn’t eat any pizza. I bought pizza rolls at the grocery store and I totally ate all of them when drunk and missing my friend Rita. As she so wisely said to me during one of our famed “Pizza Fridays”, “There’s nothing in my life that I enjoy more than sitting on the couch, eating my pizza and watching my TLC.” Heh.

(P.S. F YOU Rita. I don’t remember the exact quote. F ME if you never read this. For the rest of you…F YOU for getting involved.)

That story was crazed. And also dumb.

Now that I'm back to my normal life, I won't see Paul
again until this Sunday. It's how our lives play out.
He works nights always and I see him on Sundays and
Monday nights. The first thing he said to me on the
phone when he called this morning? "I miss you."

I can feel the tears rising as I write that.

Paul and I don't do the sentimental stuff often, but
after our 9 day vacation together, it feels so good to
know that he meant everything he said while we were
away. Especially the part when he called me a "fat
motherfucker". But that's a story for another day.

So for now...sit, stew. Take this post in. I promise
that there is going to be a lot of changes and fun
going on in the next few months. And fer SURE I will
be posting about most of it.

Some I keep private for myself so I can masterbate to
it later. It’s only fair to me.

Missed you all.
But only as a friend.