Lessons From The Gayborhood

It's been over a year (I can't believe it!) and there are a few things I have learned from living in the hood. This is perhaps what would be the start to a survival guide of staying safe and drama free at the 2929. You'd think it wouldn't be so difficult but the gayborhood is trickier than it seems...

1) If you ever see two brothers, who are dressed alike, who look alike, and who are equally wasty-face, do not even try to communicate. You will be tempted to think you're being helpful by offering to buzz them in (being that they came home and amazingly forgot their keys but still managed to remember their chinese take out) but they will not see it this way. Somehow your kind gesture of clicking them in will be seen as a threat to their autonomy and intelligence and will this will only get you drunken slurs as they deny your help anyways.

2) Never go outside after midnight alone. You always need to have a friend with you (think the buddy system that was enforced during every middleschool field trip you've ever taken). Wthout a buddy there is an increasingly high a probability of you witnessing/being asked to mediate a dispute between boyfriends. If this happens:

3) DO NOT ENGAGE

You will be tempted to think you can help (you're wrong)

You will say to yourself, I was in a sorority, I spent four years de-escalating drama. There's nothing I can't handle. What could be worse than drunk college girls arguing over boys?

Well. There is such a thing. And that would be drunk post-college boys arguing over boys.

You will want to explain how one isn't really listening to the other.

You will want to point out that their being intoxicated is a clear indication they should wait until later to have this convo.

You will want to advise them that honesty is always the best policy.

And I'm just going tell you now: this will not go well for you.

Especially if one or more of them has any of the following items: a whistle, a drink brought home from the bar, high heels, or a visor. I'm not even going to explain why, it's just a warning. Heed it.

If you see any of these four signs before it's too late, turn your happy ass around and head inside. Immediately.

Do not stop. Do not ask questions. Do not take a backward glance.

And finally, perhaps the most important rule.

4) Do not pick an idiot to be your buddy.

I won't elaborate more on that other than to say, if you think your buddy might throw you under the proverbial bus (something to the effect of announcing the fact that you are a counselor by profession to a incoherent sobbing gay man) then they probably will. And you will be P-I-S-T.

So save youself the drama and choose wisely.

Snuggie Palooza

So a few weeks ago I participated in my first ever pub crawl. But not just any pub crawl. No. This was a SNUGGIE pub crawl. And all of Dallas got in on it.

There were so many snuggies I didn't even know what to do with my excitement. We saw Princess Lea and Luke Skywalker. We saw Jersey Shore snuggies (aka white trash), Barbie snuggies (aka white trash), Ninja Turtles... The list goes on and on.

We even saw Scrabble snuggies. That's right. An awesome group of people committed to sewing scrabble letters to their snuggies, thus earning praise from everyone addicted to Words With Friends (I myself am not cool enough to own an iphone but appreciated it nonetheless).

Here is Ryan showing off his snuggie and admitting that there may have been a certain theme behind it...

Getting ready to ride the trolley to the start of the pub crawl. A special thanks to Nina Kardashian for organizing our sched. When we boarded the trolley I felt like it was Noah's ark and we sat two by two.

Side Note: What you can't see is the hairstylists to our right pointing and laughing at us, while cutting someone's hair! I was a little concerned for the customer...

Almost the whole crew.

Notice the freaking Arkansas snuggie. Kate Morgan is amazing.

And finally, the best part of my night... Elizabeth Garton doing her Best In Show monologue. Being from Kansas and all it's been a life's dream of hers to work at the DQ. But sadly they denied her hire. Something about talking to much on the job... She had to settle instead for working for Neiman Marcus. It's a sad story I know.

Slip In

Last weekend I went to a place called The Slip In.

Yep, that's what I said.

It's a bar/dance party/dive. It also happens to be located RIGHT beside a shady gas station if that's any indication.

I mean what else do I have to say besides that?

The Slip In. An experience to say the least. Why is this my life? Needless to say I quickly slipped in and out.

Special thanks to April Medina and Sarah Scaling for being ghetto beyond belief.

Why Do You HATE Me?

In the words of Meredith Grey, "Seriously? Seriously?"

So it's another night where April and I are hanging around outside at the BEST possible moment. Sometimes I think the universe is just lining these things up for us because we are always in the right place at the right time when it comes to the gayborhood.

So... A little back story. There are these gay brothers. They look like twins but in fact are not. They ALWAYS come in trashed. Every. Single. Weekend. And some week nights.

They ALWAYS have a take out bag of food. Every. Single. Time.

One is usually a little bit less wasty than the other. I'm going to assume he's older brother. They are ALWAYS together. I have yet to see one without the other. The only exception was one freezing cold night in December when younger brother was outside in the 15 degree weather on his phone in a freaking bathrobe. Really?

But I disgress.

April and I are standing outside and see these two fools on the horizon. We literally are already laughing because by now the brothers are like gay royalty to us. There is a guaranteed scene every time they are around.

And like always they come staggering up the steps, plastic bag of take out in hand. They normally are having some kind of brotherly tiff but this time it's an all out fight. Older brother has younger brother by the arm and he is SCREAMING "You're hurting me! You're hurting my arm!" like his is 5 and wiggling all around in attempt to get free. Older brother is rebuking him for making some kind of scene at one of the bars and evidently getting them tossed out into the cold. He's screaming, "You embarrassed me. You always embarrass me!" At this point we let them pass us to click inside, knowing 1) we don't want to be in the elevator with that, and 2) you can still hear everything through the glass doors.

April and I are already giggling while they are waiting for the elevator (which btw is the slowest elevator in the world). And all of a sudden younger brother starts crying.

Yes, crying.

And again starts screaming at older brother, "Why do you hate me? Why do you hate me so much? Whyyyyyyyyy?!"

Full grown man, waving his plastic bag of food in the air, screaming and crying in our lobby before storming out the back door.

And welcome to my ridiculous life.

The Great Escape

So it's another night in the hood. I'm standing outside about to click myself into the elevator when two Hispanic men walk up to me and ask for some help. I'm on the phone with April but I quickly abandon our convo because I know whatever mess these guys are in it's going to be good.

So... There are two men. One looks to be in his mid-forties. Definitely gay. And kind of big and tall (you'll need to know this later). The other is young, probably mid-twenties, and surprisingly does not seem gay. The older man, we'll call him Michael, is looking for his boyfriend/friend/they just broke up again/I don't even know, who lives upstairs. The younger guy, let's call him Juan, is gay man's straight nephew that he has just taken out to all the gay bars. Got all that?

Michael has dragged poor Juan all over Cedar Springs before walking over to 2929 to try to find his man and I felt sorry for the poor kid so I decided to stick around. Plus I have a 6th sense when it comes to drama, I can just feel it in the air. In support of this theory down the stairs comes Brian, a tall black man with a visor on. Yeah, I said visor. Like the kind frat guys like to wear while playing ultimate frisbee in an attempt to hold back the swoop.

Courtesy of:

http://www.southernproper.com/store/gentlemen/frat-hats.html

I quickly pick up that Brian is not happy that Michael is at his door, but he's trying to be nice. Brian is seems pretty good natured and begins recounting for the nephew their last fight. And away we go...

Story is that a few days ago they were leaving the bars. Michael was evidently belligerent and insisting he wanted Taco Bueno. All he wanted in life at that moment was Taco Bueno. He wanted a chicken soft taco and he wanted one bad. Therefore, an annoyed Brian begrudgingly takes him to Taco Bueno at 2 am. During the ride back they get into a fight over the music in the car, with the argument escalating to Michael's drunken accusation "You love that iPod more than you love me!" So Michael, in a brilliant and well thought out move, proceeds to smash the iPod in between the car door. Breakup ensues. Michael then walks home and that is the last Brian sees of him...

Until tonight.

And I have the glory of witnessing it.

Nephew is standing there, obviously uncomfortable as the two rehash the fight and ask me to tell them who is right (At this point they know I'm a shrink, so I'm screwed). I mean, I don't even love my iPod that much, but I sure as hell would have broken up with the crazy joker who smashed it in a car door. But do I say that? NOOOOO.

I start mumbling something about needing to go inside. But this tactic doesn't work on the gays. They have me right where they want me, trapped. I'm starting to panic because everyone knows that no matter how nice the gays are they will turn on you in one hot second. So I'm thinking and thinking of what I can say that will appease both these men, and I got nothin.

When all of a sudden up walks my escape.

If you have read my blog you remember "Kyle" the guy who called me Selena Gomez and humped my friend April. Well it is none other than sweet Kyle who comes staggering up the steps at this very moment, obviously drunk and again screaming "Selena!" as he sees me.

Not only does his unbalanced hug push me a little further towards the door, but Kyle then turns to talk to Michael and Brian, and in the process gets distracted by the frat-ish visor. And as a typical gay man he starts in with the fashion advice. He starts making fun of the visor which pisses off not Brian, the one actually wearing it, but wasty face ex-boyfriend Michael. Words get exchanged and it's the war of the gays. Little Kyle pushes big Micheal and Brian has to jump in between.

I see my out and I take it.

I pull Kyle towards the door and put him in the elevator apologizing and saying I'm making sure he gets home safe. What I'm really thinking is that I am safe! Breathing a sigh of relief I listen to Kyle's obsession with Selena Gomez for a few more minutes before we reach his floor and he stumbles out.

And there you go kids. Just another day in the hood.

GTL Baby. Gym. Tan. Laundry.

So first a confession...

I live a somewhat ridiculous life. Ok, ok, I live a totally ridiculous life. I understand that by 27 most people are married, have kids, or at least probably own a house (Courtney Shelton).

Not me. Nope. No house. No kids. And after 27 years evidently still no maturity.

One thing my best friends know about me is that I LOVE scenes. And I mean LOVE. If there is a way to create one I will find it. Normally it is at the expense of my nearest and dearest friends (Gina), for which I am acutely aware they are starting to become resentful of. I can't help it though. I blame this all on my father, who is the most fun but also most embarrassing man I know. At a young age I learned that I would have to lose any sense of embarrassment if I were to survive life with him. And from there it just continued.

Which ends up being perfect for the group of friends I now hold. We share a love for TV/ addiction to Grey's, LOST, and GG. Additionally, we all share an unhealthy obsession with the trashy show Jersey Shore. I know, I know. I'm a little ashamed even as I say it, but it's like watching a train wreck, you can't take your eyes away.

SO... the product of these wonderful friends obsession with MTV's newest debacle plus my love for creating scenes equals...

JERSEY SHORE BABY

Ladies, meet Ryan "The Body" Sollum

Here's the story. Two of my dearest friends are sisters whose birthdays just happen to fall within two days of each other. I mean it's fate. Last year we had an 80's prom themed party whose ridiculousness was through the roof, yet remained in the confines of our apartment.

THIS year however, we took the party out to Dallas. The result...

Katie and Elizabeth Garton aka "The Opportunity " and "E Pow"

If you haven't Jersey Shored your name yet you totally should. Mine is "The Incident" which is scarily accurate.

(http://www.unlikelywords.com/2009/12/08/jersey-shore-nickname-generator/ )

Beating the beat. Gotta start low.

Typical. Ryan and all the girls.

I'm not going to lie. We got the DIRTIEST looks from every other girl at the bar when we walked in. You could tell they thought we were T-rash (this is the point I enjoy though, the reaction). However, once they figured out what we were doing everyone in the bar decided to join in on beating the beat and some good fist pumping action. All in all, Best. Birthday. Ever.

The Little Monster

So I'm home for the holidays. That's right, South Carolina baby! 

And I'm super excited to be home. To relax, hang out. Depart from the chaos of Dallas...

Until I remember that I'm a Festa. Chaos is our life, and home is no different. 

First story: I have a little brother named Patrick. He's 7. Yes I said 7. I realize how big an age difference there is. And we call him Little Monster. 

Why, you may ask? I mean he's cute, he looks harmless enough. 

Here's why. 

So I was talking to him the other day about taking karate, and jokingly asked if he was going to use his new skills to beat up my dad. My dad is a crazy. I mean a legit crazy, and would probably be impressed if Patrick attempted to kill him with a karate chop to the neck. 

Anyway, Patrick says no, dad is too big and he is small. To which I so wisely respond, "You know Patrick dad is getting pretty old. I mean, in a few years he'll probably be in a wheelchair and then you'll be able to beat him up." 

Now let me explain a little bit first. If you know me and think I'm a little arrogant, let me tell you, I have NOTHING on my father. He is full blooded Italian, louder than me, more obnoxious than me, and even more conceited than I am. Because of this my three brothers and I make it our lifelong goal to try to bring his self-esteem down to a somewhat normal level. We call him old, we tell him he needs to get into shape, etc, etc. This may sound mean and perhaps even cruel, but you do not know my dad. Nothing phases him. Nothing. His response is always, "Give me a month. Give me a month and I'll beat you running a mile. Give me a month, I'll bench more than you" (said to my 6'2", 250 pound football playing brother, obviously not to me.) Just one month, no matter what it is. He probably could build you a house in a month according to him. 

So I digress. These are a few of the many reasons that my above comment to Patrick is funny and not cruel. We're Italian. We tease each other. It's what we do. Until... Dad calls me right before I go home to tell me that he was joking around with Patrick, picking on him, and Patrick blurts out "You're going to regret that. When you are old and dying, I'm going to punch you in the face!"

To which I have to respond, "I might have had something to do with that" before busting out laughing. 

And then I get home to find Patrick playing outside with my brother James (the above mentioned huge football player). Patrick proceeds to throw the ball no where near where James can catch and when James misses states, "And that's why you got red-shirted." (Sweet little one doesn't know that's a good thing, he just knows it means James didn't get to play this year).

This is the same kid who called my dad a shithead. Yes, shithead. And my dad laughed. He laughed! The same kid who stated, "You know dad, sometimes everything isn't all about you." 

I know you probably think I come from a horribly disfunctional family. And you would probably be correct.

But rather disfunctional than boring I say.