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Today’s message is brought to you by The Gay Agenda: If we just keep pushing, eventually the whole world will be so fucking queer it will be undeniable, that in fact, and all along, Cher is God. Recruit! Recruit! Recruit!
A few weeks ago my belief that anything can happen in this world went from example 176,344 to 176,345.
This time the proof was in discovering that my old highschool, in Smallmindednowhereville, where I thought the F word was faggot until I was ten, just started a GSA club. Yes, Smallmindednowhereville Highschool has a Gay Straight Alliance. Last year when the students asked if they could start this club the principal said, of course, “No way you faggot freaks. We have plenty of “diversity” clubs. This would be redundant (and fucking gay, dude!).” And so, these small town kiddos went all higher court on the principals ass and it turned out, if he didn’t want to send his entire district to court he needed to bend over, sign on the dotted line, and suck it up. He did. Another score for team twinks!
So, today, yours truly is going to drive all the live long day to get to this high school, to meet a teacher, who is younger than me by a few years, whose older brother once asked me to a dance at this exact high school so that I can be escorted to this little GSA club and say, “Hi there kids. My name is jesse james. I’m a BIG ol’ flaming queer faggot lesbian and I made it out of here alive. Oh, and I AM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU IT HURTS. And then I will make out with all of them.
The kicker? Like there could be one? My high school sweetheart, the girl I dated for 5 long long long years, all through high school (plus a year), who is now married to an awesome man and has two beautiful babies… yes, we’re still best buddies and yes, she’s coming with me.
I haven’t set foot in that awful buiding since the last time I was legally bound to do so. I could never have imagined being this excited to go back there. I will, of course, let you know how it goes.
(In order to preserve and maintain the high level of faggy queerness that I have very intentionally injected into this series, please click on the video below and count to fifteen before reading the final credits – it is just so gay and perfect that way, trust me.)
. . . . .
…And like every adventure that ever was, eventually there is – The End -
. . . . .
Tour of Fabulous: Final Credits (in order of appearance):
The oh so amazing and lovely, long time leading lady: Violet
My four legged shadow: the Seal
The reason I didn’t miss my flight: The SeaTac TSA lady that kind of hated me
Red backpack: As itself
Best hair product in the world: Not telling
Sexy smooth dude/ Ol’ school best buddy: Sinclair Sexsmith
Sweet girl that put up with Sin and me all week: Kristen
Partner in many a late night crimes, one of my very favorites, Park Slope pool survivor: Mikey
Crowd of fabulous on Friday night: Everyone that did not try to beat me up
Pool shark: Barb
Pool shark’s drunk friend: Suz
Very cool dude who threw an awesome party: JessHeIs
Lady who hypnotized me with her eyes and then fed me breakfast: Tina-cous
Snazziest dressed (by a long shot) at Jess’ party: Dr. Leo MacCool
Wonderful, sweet new friend willing to talk with me all night long: Freedomgirl
Doppelganger-Shane from the L-word: the DJ at Jess’ party
Lovely girl behind those green eyes: greg
greg’s dress: As itself
New long distance bff: greg’s girlfriend
. . . . .
TOF Director: Sinclair Sexsmith
TOF Producer: jesse james
TOF Executive Producer: the Seal
TOF Editor: Fraidy Phat the Fish
TOF Fact Verifier: Marcus the Raccoon
“Tour of Fabulous” Title Credit and Most Missed Blogger: Lady Brett
Onset Chef and Makeup Artist: Kristen
Windsor Tie Knot Maker and Hair Validator to jesse james: Sinclair Sexsmith
Cherday Sponsor: Thursday
(endless) Support Crew: Violet
Best Boy Grip: That’s what she said
*A special thanks to Sinclair Sexsmith, one of my very favorite people on earth, for putting me up and putting up with me for a week. You are a host with the most and one of my favorite ways to spend my time. And to all of you along this amazing vacation adventure, thank you for being so kind and wonderful and welcoming. I am very lucky to have met you and to have you all in my world. And thank you all for getting through all four parts with no one screaming “LIAR! I can’t believe you just said that about me!”
I very much look forward to TOF: The Sequel.
with love, of course,
jesse james
Aaah greg. Sweet, charming, beautiful, wonderful, greg.
I met greg. I talked with greg. I had dinner with greg and I hugged greg. Yes, there is more to the story than this, but I thought I’d put the highlights right out there for you. I mean, if any of the just mentioned does not totally fascinate you, you also probably don’t like chocolate or puppies or having fun and will most likely find this post a snoozer… keep in mind, that means something is wrong with you.
On Sunday, Kristen, Sin and I got back from Jess’ party with just enough time to get things a bit together before greg and her girlfriend, both of whom I had never met and was quite excited about meeting, came over. Sin had errands to run and so a runnin’ she went. Kristen had long planned the menu and as soon as we got back to Brooklyn she got in the kitchen and started Tearing. It. Up.
Violet is a fabulous cook and because of this I am not just well fed but also a well trained kitchen bottom with over 4 years of experience. Yes, I’ll stick my fingers in the pesto and the pudding when you’re not looking (you totally didn’t see me, did you! Stealth), but I can slice and dice and sauté all under particular orders like a pro. This worked to both Kristen’s and my favor quite nicely.
We had two hours and some serious prepping to do before greg and her girlfriend arrived so naturally, I created a ‘Lady Gaga’ station on Pandora, and we rocked the kitchen dance club style. Chopping sweet potatoes to “Po po po poker face po po poker face” is like a natural rhythm really. And like I told the lettuce, “Baby when its love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun” as I ripped it up into the bowl. Perfect, yes? Agreed.
And the menu Kristen came up with was no small task and as time began to thin she just kept her cool and kept cooking. Somehow by the time our company arrived all was prepared, including sliced lime wedges for drinks.
And then the buzzer buzzed which was my cue to double check that my hair was perfect and that my zipper was up. Check and check (insert snapping S shaped swoosh of hand here.)
Ten seconds later there they were. In walked greg first. And anyone can know she’s beautiful and smart with knock out fashion sense if you check out her blog… I knew this. But still, folks, somehow I was just not prepared.
In the two seconds she turned away from me to take off her coat I managed to down the rest of my glass of wine (you totally didn’t see me, did you? Double stealth.) As she turned back around, sans coat, in a dress that could kill a small village, with knee high boots that would at least make a small village unable to speak coherently, and mentioned that traffic was bad, my fag-brain was screaming, “Love. This. Get. Up. Something. Fierce! Dayamn, girl. Flawless. Perfect. Hot. Love it! Love it! Love it!” My mouth said, “Sorry the traffic was bad. Great dress. Can I get you a drink?”
(I heard later that she was wearing a fabulous necklace but I was too scared. After getting caught looking at my doctors cleavage about a month ago– yes, you heard me: super fail – I have been practicing being a mature adult that can get through an evening without my eyes dropping and I did and I am quite proud of myself, except it turns out I really missed out… on some fabulous jewelry, that is.)
And then, in walked greg’s girlfriend and I was doubly impressed with everything happening. I was very excited to spend the evening in this company.
(Note: Because greg’s girlfriend isn’t really in the blog world I consider her an innocent bystander more than anything else. This is just to say that I am intentionally being overly vague. I will mention however, that if we lived closer I would try, with relentless effort, to make her like me so that I could be her friend that she would want to hang out with regularly. Also, she has a killer smile, but you could find that out on greg’s blog.)
So, I fixed them a couple of drinks. And by ‘I fixed them a couple of drinks’, I mean I stood next to Greg and watched her fix a couple of drinks, as everything she did was deeply interesting and truly impressive.
Eventually we all settled around the table and started to chat while eating some very tasty food. I was permanently leaned in towards greg with my hands folded underneath my chin in awe. I tried to ask her about anything and everything so that she would keep talking and continue to be so freaking-out-of-this-world-fabulous. greg is so engaging, so charming, and so easy to talk with. My new long distance bff, aka greg’s girlfriend, was so very fun and easy-going and made me laugh a lot.
At some point, and who knows how really, Cher came up and I tried to teach Sinclair how to flip hair the way Cher does (WHY did I not ask greg to try?!? And the regrets begin…) There was also a point where greg’s gf and I bonded over constantly being verbally attacked for… dear gawd, do I bring this up again?… gulp… both agreeing that, without any information or details, but purely on looks and looks alone,we think Sarah Palin is attractive (aaand cue the angry emails. But folks, it’s just Tina Fey’s evil twin, really. Ok, moving on! This is about greg. Move. on.)
The evening flowed rather easily for me, as maybe I haven’t mentioned or made clear enough: I was totally infatuated with our company. Throughout the evening, I again went through the brain flips of trying to separate greg from her blog. And again, as the evening progressed it became easier to do.
I hadn’t realized how many blanks I had filled in about her that shifted, of course, once we met. More so than any other blogger I had met this weekend. Even her voice. I hadn’t really considered that I didn’t know what her voice sounded like, or maybe I had created an idea of one. And so, as soon as she said hello, that two dimensional bubble popped and a new, real and in person version of greg began to filter through.
To me, greg’s blog feels personal in a different way somehow, almost like reading a journal. It’s always in the moment and it’s brave and honest, like a letter from a friend that trusts you. I’m not totally sure what it is, but I feel like she keeps me up to date on her day to day, what’s on her mind (yes, I realize it is more actuate to say us, but this is about me now). I feel like she creates a real-life context for herself, including pictures of moments that just happened. Her blog feels like it’s in real-time, like a window.
I’m not sure what it is, but I think I almost forgot that we didn’t know each other until we met. And on top of realizing all of this, I then realized that my feeling this way was not necessarily mutual. My blog, more than not, tends to be in stories about other people, other things, my observations, my version of life, and in no particular order or time frame, and not usually about me in the now, really. She mentioned exactly that at one point, saying, “So, jesse, who I know very little about, tell me about yourself.”
We also talked about many of the finer things in life, such as the Real Housewives of New Jersey. (Did greg totally reenact the table flipping scene from the last episode? Yes. Was it perfect? Don’t ask dumb questions, of course it was. Did I eventually stop asking and then immediately answering my own questions in a ridiculous New Jersey accent? Ya, I did. Did I want to? No. But we needed to move on.)
We continued to have course after course of Kristen’s wonderful, homemade meal and eventually broke into the beautiful dessert that greg had brought.
And just as I decided to sneak off and call Violet to see if we could please keep them, almost as quickly as the evening began, it started to get late. It was Sunday night and some of us still work. They needed to get going.
We all hugged goodbye and like a kid who’s being left with the babysitter for the first time, I attempted to keep a strong face as I waved goodbye- just as greg turned back and said she wanted another hug. My brain was singing, in its best Louis Armstrong impression “…and I think to myself, what a wonderful worrrrrrrld” My mouth said, “It was so wonderful to finally meet you.”
And then, just like that, they were gone.
Saturday morning.
Sometime around 10 a.m. Sinclair came into the room where I was sleeping and began attempting to nurse me back to life with coffee. Unfortunately, before we went to bed the night before, not so many hours earlier, the three of us drunkenly polished off the last of the cinnamon rolls and were forced to eat sub-incredibly-fabulous breakfast foods that normal people, who had never had these cinnamon rolls, would find perfectly fine.
Eventually we all started feeling and acting like the living kind and started to get ourselves together enough to head out. Today we were off to JessHeIs’ Bye Bye Boobies party and fundraiser. We gathered up ties and shirts and dresses and shoe that were then all hung in the Outback with care. We grabbed several different vessels to fill with water in an attempt to un-pickle ourselves from the night before.
Although I was dragging a bit I was terribly excited to get there. Tonight I was going to meet a whole slew of bloggers that I follow daily and have been oh so excited to meet.
After some serious traffic issues along side apocalyptic rain showers (that never let up) we arrived. I got out of the car and saw some dude walking towards me with his hand out. JessHeIs shook my hand, threw his arm around my shoulder and within two seconds I felt like we were old friends.
I went inside and BOOM, there they all were (and the blogger name dropping bomb begins…) Leo MacCool, Freedomgirl, Tina-cious, JessHeIs, Sinclair, Kristen and I were all of a sudden just standing in a room together like normal real life human beings. My mind went from excited little sparklers to big huge explosions as I tried to connect this online world to these faces in front of me.
I read them everyday. I check in with them and comment and care about them. I wait for their next post like I wait for Violet to call me from work. It makes my day. And when Jess asked me how Fraidy and the little guys were doing I did a back flip in my brain. This collision was amazing to me. It was so weird and so wonderful.
For some folks, I think the ability to connect these worlds might be a little easier. But for me, I have never ever had a relationship with someone online and online only. And to make the previous statement a bit truer, until I met these folks I hadn’t formally realize that I had relationships online. Really important relationships. I still haven’t totally grasped that people even read this blog, and less than a hand full of people I know even know about this space. And yes, Violet and I were long distance for a long time, but I met her in person first. We had already kissed and taken walks together – and then came the distance. This was just totally different.
Before the party we all went to pizza together. (I ate a piece of clam pizza by the way. Supposedly Jess’ part of the world thinks this is normal? But if you are like me and think this is just a terrible and strange and most likely VERY BAD idea, fair enough. We understand each other. Ditto, friend. But I tried it anyway and it was actually really good! Jess laughed at me as my face went from, “Oh god, this is not going to be ok,” to “Damn clam! Way to taste delicious!”)
At dinner I sat next to the lovely Freedomgirl and as she and I started talking about life in general, we couldn’t help but to stumble upon a lot of information we already knew because of things we’ve written. She’d start talking about something and I’d say, “Oh ya, I’ve read about that.” And this kept happening. A few minutes into dinner Jess said, “Dudes, we already know everything. We’re gonna run out of stuff to talk about in 10 minutes.”
As the night continued, eventually, I started realizing how to separate the person from the blog. It started to feel obvious the more we talked. I started to realize that the differences are (and tend to be) in the subtleties: Things you can’t read through a typed font, things you can’t express or share with letters, things you can’t know without watching it happen or without watching it being told. There is an intimacy in hearing the voice, the inflection, watching the body language. In person, there is a back and forth, a give and take.
Jess has an easy-going, brotherly demeanor and one of my favorite smiles. Tina is just as easy-going and funny and so gracious, with eyes that are almost hypnotic and full of expression. Leo has a gentle and brilliant delivery and her humor is subtle and quick and witty. Freedomgirl’s timing in her speaking is absolutely mesmerizing, it rolls you in. Sinclair has a delicate kindness and intentional endless caring, that comes through in everything she does and says.
The details fill in differently in person. The same story now has sound, a personalized tone, a laugh, eyes, gestures, body language. And just the telling of the story now has a shared context. There’s an energy created simply by being present together. And we were all present and we were all together.
After pizza we all headed back to Jess and Tina’s house-turned-blogger-hostel to get cute and shmancy for the party. Ties were tied, lipsticks were applied and then blotted and then applied again and again, hair was brushed and sculpted, suit jackets were buttoned and off we were.
The torrential downpour of rain had not even slightly let up. It was some of the hardest rain I had ever seen. The driveway had turned into a small lake and had everyone’s feet totally soaked through. And if it weren’t for our instantly flawless coordination of our magical shield of umbrellas we would have been a really hot crowd gone quite soggy in seconds. But we had umbrellas, a lot of them, and each other. So, while the rain did what rain does, we did what we do- we covered each other until it was safe.
We got to the party around 9ish, all of us dry (minus our feet) and looking like a hot little group of fabulousness. The music was blasting, the crowd was mingling, the drinks were flowing, the jello shots were rainbow colored and the cheetos were unnaturally orange and tasted perfect.
As the night progressed, eventually everyone was dancing to loud, faggy-clubby queer music that the DJ kept seamlessly rolling (while in between songs she had some girl plastered up against the wall with her mouth – go DJ, go, yo.) At one point, the sexy, smooth Sinclair busted out a hot little drag show to Faith by George Michael. I had the opportunity to meet a lot of friends that Jess and Tina have collected along the way in their life and I was totally impressed with the entire situation.
The next morning I woke up at Casa de Jess n Tina to the smell of fresh coffee and quiche. We all sat around the kitchen table, some of us feeling a bit perkier than others, and I had my last meal… for now anyway, with some truly remarkable people who double as some of the most important people in my life.
The sun, the day after the party of course, was shining as bright as a summer’s day and the sky was as blue and clear as the ocean. So before we all went our separate ways, we went outside, for the first time without umbrellas, all together, and took a group photo.
We gathered our things, and I hugged each real person, and said goodbye… for now.
Cue in fabulously perfect theme song…
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(now that you are totally taken by Jess, like I am, if you happen to have an extra dollar or two or fifty or more and want to help a really amazing guy get where he’s going, your donation towards his top surgery is a really big deal and your donation is a really big help. CLICK HERE TO DONATE DIRECTLY TO JESS. Thank you!
After being greeted by the one and only Sinclair Sexsmith and finally getting to meet the oh so lovely Kristen late Thursday night, I woke up Friday morning in Brooklyn.
Kristen started our morning off with cinnamon roll biscuits from scratch (which were, without flinching in any spec of a doubt, the most delicious thing that either a biscuit or cinnamon had ever done.) After breakfast we all spent the afternoon hanging out together and being fairly restful, as we predicted correctly, this would be our last resting opportunity for several days.
That evening I had dinner plans with one of my favorite friends, Mikey, who recently moved to New York, and then we were off to meet a lovely crowd of folks at a local dyke bar in Park Slope.
Once at the bar and full knowing that we were all asking for nothing less than a wee bit of trouble, right off the bat the whole lot of us counted to three and drank our *car bombs down and gone (*a half pint of Guinness with a shot of whiskey and Irish cream.)
An hour or so later Mikey and I decide we wanted to play a game of pool. There is a back room to this bar where the pool table lives and Sinclair warned me, more than once, that she has never felt very comfortable back there. “Phshaw to that,” I thought. “It’s just pool. It is our national lesbian sport (besides camping and rugby). It is our birthright!”
Mikey and I wrote our names down on the list and waited. An hour or so later a large woman with a very serious demeanor found us up front and declared rather than asked us, “You are Mikey and jesse. You’re up against Suz and me”
We went back and the game began. It was awkwardly quiet. Both Mikey and I felt the chill right away and tried to talk to and befriend Barb a bit with absolutely no success. I mean, her disdain was so blatant and only became increasingly painful as the game continued. One of us would say something to her or ask her a question and receive absolutely nothing in return. Not a look, not a glance, gesture, scoff, not a nothing. It was really uncomfortable, to say the very, very least and it made for a long game. I whispered to Mikey, “How can she already hate us? We just got here.”
Mikey told me not to worry, that we just needed to get into the game and that things would lighten up. We both tried to keep things light. Oh how we tried.
At several different points in the game Barb switched out her personal pool stick for a different one. Switched out her very own personal pool sticks, as in plural, more than one, you ask? Yes. She was not only totally scary and wearing a black, three fingered pool glove and had made it very clear, without needing to formalize the sentiment, that we were not invited to her birthday party, she also had several pool sticks of her own.
I bit my tongue three different times but finally I decided I had a really great one liner. It was sure to crack a smile. The fourth time Barb traded out pool sticks I said, “Hey! This isn’t golf!” – aaand cue solo awkward laugh with cricket sounds in the background. She didn’t even look at me.
Mikey also tried to lighten things up with her own technique that I like to call: irresistible southern charm. She walked right up to Barb, stood beside her and postured herself exactly the same way Barb was standing: arms crossed, pool stick in the nook of her right elbow, slouched posture with a bent right knee.
Mikey (please keep in mind the butter-like Tennessee accent): Hey Barb. (NO response.) I heard y’all had a little pool club goin’ here, huh?
Barb: League.
Mikey: Well, see, I just moved here. I’m really not great at pool but it is fun. And if y’all play here all the time. I mean, I’m pretty busy and don’t live very close by but I would like to meet people and, well, maybe I could join y’alls little pool club?
Barb: League. (long pause, zero eye contact) No.
Poor Mikey. She walked back over looking quite defeated and said, “Well, that Barb has really hurt my feelings.”
I told her it wasn’t us. Barb was made of ice and stone. We were fine and kind of suck at the game but we were having a good time, or trying to anyway. Mikey nodded.
The game continued as Mikey and I did our best to amuse each other and have a good time.
Now we were 5 to 2 (and to clarify per Violet’s request, that means we still had 5 balls on the table that we needed to get in while they only had 2.) Barb’s pool partner, Suz, was up. I loved Suz. She was short and drunk with hat-head-hair to her shoulders and a big baggy red flannel shirt that fell over her baggy jeans. All she did was giggle and snort at anything anyone said or didn’t say.
At one point she walked by me and I whispered, “I love you Suz. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She snorted and giggled as she slapped me on the back before aiming up her next shot.
Suz was a good shot, but she was also a bit drunk and not on her game.
Eventually they got to the 8 ball while we still had 3 on the table (again, to clarify, this means they were on the final ball and we were really losing.) It was Suz’s turn. Barb still looked like someone had just spit on her shoes but at this point I had decided that was just her resting face.
Suz aimed. Suz shot. Aaaaand Suz scratched…. on the 8 ball, which means they LOSE and although we didn’t really WIN, by default we WON! (And the crowd in my head went wild while keeping an eye on the nearest exit should Barb lose her cool.)
So, now we were without grumpy, scary, angry Barb which allowed our breathing to return to normal. As the winners (by default), Mikey and I played another game with a decent guy with a green goatee and his friend. We lost the game quickly and painlessly to both of our relief. We had had enough of this hard core pool nonsense.
And just like someone had cued in the final credits to our pool adventure, finally my jukebox music came on and the bar was blasting “If I could Turn Back Time” (if you are at all surprised by this there is no hope for you.) And all of a sudden, my main man Sinclair Sexsmith showed up in the forbidden back room and proceeded to dance dance dance. I grabbed a pool stick-microphone and began singing along at the top of my lungs. Yes, my throat was very sore for the rest of the night and into the next day and yes we were totally fabulous.
But mid-song, out of the corner of my eye, there she was. Barb was back. “I’d take back all the words that hurt you and you’d stay…” I don’t know much about Barb, as she was a tough egg to crack, but I do know two things for sure: She hated me and she hated me singing Cher tunes in her pool room. The only time all night that we made any eye contact was while I was singing. “If I could reach the stars…” She caught my glance and beat me up with the look she shot. But I was singing Cher, I just didn’t have room to care.
After the song was over Mikey and I lingered in the back room a bit, chatting with the few other folks that didn’t hate us and who had personalities. And then, all of a sudden I hear, “Move” and feel a pretty blunt shove to my back that jolted me forward. Barb pushed me. Pretty hard really and I knew exactly what this was. This was the white shark bump-and-bite technique: First, the shark bumps you really hard with its nose to disorient you and as a test. After that, if you see the shark again it’s because she is going to eat you.
My brain, now on a few pints of beer, thought, “What the hell?!” My mouth, also talking through a few pints said, “Listen dude, I may look butch or whatever, but I am actually more fragile and sensitive than anything. ‘Can you get out of my way’ would have worked just fine.”
I am not a fighter. I do have a mouth on me but I do not throw or get in the way of punches. Ever. (Except for that one time in the 6th grade when I beat up Jake Nepp for picking on my little brother.) Mostly, my skills are in my swift ability to talk a little shit and run like all hell. (Fight and flight, remember?)
So, I made this comment to Barb with car-bomb-confidence but as it was all falling out of my mouth I had this alternate vision of seeing the shark come back and me flying by the crowd of folks in the front room yelling, “Nice to meet you all! Gotta go now! I’ll text you when it’s safe to stop running, Sin!” Fortunately, the pool shark wasn’t hungry for an innocent-little-fag-fish right then and there was no need to flee. Barb was all bump and no bite.
At this point I was a bit jostled and a little pissed off, as any innocent out of town fish who was just trying to chill with the pool school would be. So, instead of letting my mouth get me into any real trouble I went back up front, told Sin she was right about the pool room and carried on with the night and with a wonderful group of pleasant, non-angry, interesting and fun folks.
As we were leaving the bar that night I turned back and put several more Cher songs on the jukebox, just for Barb.
The last song, of course, was Just Like Jesse James.
I almost missed the plane. Of course, right? I got to SeaTac airport early, checked in, got mostly naked to get through security, hopped the train to my gate and there I was… without my backpack! This backpack not only had my favorite sweater, shmancy chocolate that Violet had picked out for Kristen, and a rockin ipod playlist for the trek to Jess’s party, this backpack had my hair product!
I had eight minutes until the plane boarded. I had a serious decision to make.
Since spraining my ankle I haven’t run. I haven’t even tried. And up until the exact moment of realizing that I had forgotten my backpack at the security checkpoint I wasn’t even sure it was possible yet. But like I mentioned my hair product was in that bag and I had 8 minutes.
I ran. Oh how I ran.
I hopped the train backwards towards the security checkpoint and in my frenzied, hair product-less obsessed mind, instead of staying past the security check point area I ran right back out of the secured part of the airport into baggage claim. WHOOPS SQUARED.
So now I had 5 minutes and I was exactly where I started when Violet dropped me off over an hour ago. I continued to run. (At this point running was totally unnecessary as there was really nowhere I could run to, but it felt good and it was giving me a false sense of being proactive about my situation.) I saw some TSA lady about to get into an elevator and decided she was my last hope. I half yelled, “Excuse me! I know you spend too much of your day having to deal with panicked morons like me… I know that, but will you PLEASE help me!” She rolled her eyes and started walking towards the security check point, waving her hand at me, without looking at me like, “Come on you sad, lost little animal. Mamma’s here now, you dumb little baby.” And I followed her with big eyes and endless hope, like a lost, little, dumb baby bird.
She went to the front of the security check line and yelled, “Hey! Sam! I got another one here. Left their backpack about 15 minutes ago. Flight in 5.” And then my angel TSA mamma bird who kind of hated me was gone.
Sam opened several of those rat maze like rope things that the line of folks weave around while peeling off all things metal and putting all liquids into a clear sack. He took me right to the front of one of the metal detectors to know one else’s approval or delight. I again got mostly naked, walked through the gates of oh-my-god-I-might-actually-make-my-flight and then some woman in some special tower 20 feet away waved my backpack at me. I gave her a thumbs up and she waved at me to come over.
When I got there she had hid it behind a desk and ask me, “Oh ya? What color is it?” And my brain though, “Wait? What the hell? You just showed it to me.” But there was no time for trying to question our internal homeland security processes and procedures; I had a flight that left in 2 minutes! I said, “Red.” She said, “Mm hmm. And what’s in it?” I said, “A fabulous gray sweater, a couple of purple rubber ducky devil ducky things… um, my bathroom bag (i.e. my hair product!!!) and some…” She cut me off and handed it to me. I thanked her profusely as I once again did what I could to be as proactive about catching this plane as possible and I ran like no one’s ephing business.
I ran down several flights of stairs, hopped back on the train and ran to the gate. Everyone had already boarded. A guy took my ticket and said, “Go! Hurry!” I ran down the ramp and onto my plane. I did the walk of shame past several isles of already-ready-to-go passengers who all stared at me and gave me pointless and predictable dirty looks. I was sweating like mad as I crammed my bag into an overhead bin. I found my middle seat, in between a woman reading Genesis and another woman who spoke no English and who would insist I take a piece of her chewing gum every 30 minutes or so for our entire flight.
The cabin doors closed as the flight attendant came by and said, “That was a close call, sir. Please put your seat belt on.” And off we were. Off I was. To New York.
Yesterday I woke up in Brooklyn. About an hour ago I woke up in Seattle.
I just got back from my trip to New York. It was an incredible adventure that was absolutely, totally amazing and included no sleep. Every single moment was completely packed full of places to go, people to meet and ridiculously exciting things to do. And I want to write about it all but I’m not sure this is possible. This trip was so huge…. sooooooo huge (with tons of amazing bloggers to name drop along the way).
So, in an attempt to tell the story the way I want to (i.e. verbosely with attention to details that don’t matter) I have realized, if I also want to attempt to keep anyone’s attention I’m going to have to do this in parts. This will be the first ever series on jljj and I’m calling it: New York in 4 Parts. Tour of Fabulous (Catchy, no? The brainchild behind the title being the lovely Lady Brett ) I haven’t written them yet but my guess is the line up will look something like this:
Part 1. (Almost Not) Getting There (might also be called, “Willing to Miss A Flight For Hair Product And Devil Ducks”)
Part 2. Taking Over Brooklyn (might also be called, “How jesse Almost Got Beat Up By A Huge Angry Woman In A Brooklyn Dyke Bar” or “Hey Rene! I May Look Butch But I’m Actually Quite Fragile and Sensitive! No Need To Push” or “Doing The Single Ladies Dance With Sinclair In A Crowded Bar” or “Ya, I’m The One Who Keeps Putting Cher On The Jukebox, Who Wants To Know?”)
Part 3. No Mo’ Boobies Party, starring my name twin, JessHeIs (might also be called, “Leo and the Magic Air Mattress” or “Did You Try Dangling It, Babe?”) Regardless, this is where a whole ton of blogger name dropping will happen.
Part 4. Meeting Greg (might also be called, “Sunday Swooning” or maybe “Kristen’s FagSpice Kitchen Bottom Finally Gets to Meet The Green Eyed Grrrl” or “No, I’m Not Nervous Or Feeling A Tad Dizzy Because Of Your Flawless Fabulousness, I Always Act Like A Giddy Idiot”
So, there are a few unnecessary details to iron out and I have a bit of sleep to catch up on, but it is all in the works, and is all on the way. Until then…
In the last week, every single day for the last several days, there has been a web search that says something like, “why do they call me gay” and “why do they tell me I’m gay” and “why do they tease me [that] I’m gay” that has led to my blog somehow. It’s very likely that it was several different folks and several different searches, but my gut, for whatever reason, doesn’t think so. And I’m not sure how or why you clicked on my blog each time, but you’ve been here day after day this week, so, I’m writing this post to you, on the off chance that you’ll stop by at least once more.
To my ‘why do they call me gay’ googler,
I’ve been thinking about you a lot and wondering what your story is. I’ve made up in my head that you are a 9 or 11 or 13 or 15 year old kid in some small town who is waking up each morning dreading having to go to school a little bit more than the day before. My guess is that you are a really smart kid, but it’s getting harder and harder to focus on schoolwork with the name calling. Instead you are online asking google why the world is being so mean to you right now. You are probably confused about a lot of things and you are online trying to figure out what you are doing wrong.
This may be your story, or close, or I may be way off, but this is a lot of people’s story and that sucks. It’s my story (minus the invention of google – I use to take the bus three towns away and look for books about it in a library where I prayed no one would know me. And I’m not even old, so get over that idea!)
I grew up in a small town and started having a really hard time in high school once folks began accusing me of being gay. This teasing didn’t bug me or bother me; it terrified me and made my already totally confusing life way more confusing. I wasn’t sure if I was gay or not but when I started getting called ‘gay’, and folks were talking about me behind my back, teasing me, friends started acting weird or stopped talking to me, I became way more worried about being accused of being gay than if I thought I was or not. So, I started spending as little time in school as I could get away with. I was good at most sports and stopped playing all of them. I was first chair trumpet (that means I was top dog player, yo) and stopped playing all together. I got rockin’ SAT scores but barely graduated high school and didn’t even apply for college. I waited to turn 18 and got the hell out of my town.
***DO NOT DO THIS!***
A lot of people have this story, or something close to it. And that sucks. So I see your searches that has somehow brought you to this blog all week and my stomach sinks.
Clearly this is bugging you or confusing you and I really want to reach out to you somehow but I’m not sure how to. I don’t actually know your story. (For all I know you are a 60 year old trucker lady from Minnesota.) But if you are in school and you are getting teased I want something to happen or change for you and I bet you do too. And it can, it’s just a matter of figuring out what to do… but you probably already know that.
And if you are gay or you aren’t gay or you don’t know if you are or if you don’t even care about that stuff anyway, and people are giving you a hard time and calling you names, any names, just so you know: You aren’t doing anything wrong and you don’t deserve to be teased or bullied or called names that make you feel bad or uncomfortable! Ever, ever, ever, in your whole life you never ever need to put up with that!!!
(A really important side note to all of this would be, of course, that being gay isn’t a bad thing. I am totally gay and totally fabulous and I know a TON of gay and fabulous people, but I don’t think that is the main point in this case.)
What I wanted in high school was for someone to help me somehow. I wanted to talk to someone about things but I was way too scared and didn’t know who I could trust. Even though the teasing and the rumors about me were really hurting me I felt like I needed to keep my feelings a secret for some reason. I thought that if I told someone about it things might get worse somehow. And there wasn’t anyone I really trusted at my school to talk to.
And maybe you don’t feel like there is anyone you can talk to at school, or maybe you want to talk to someone who doesn’t know who you are? Well well well! I just found the coolest place for you to call!!! … or, get ready for this!!!… You don’t even have to call, you can just go on their website and chat with someone online!!!
Here’s the info:
Youth Talkline (for ages 25 and under but they will totally talk to you if you are older)
Phone: 1-800-96YOUTH (1-800-969-6884)
Website: youthtalkline.org and click on “online peer support chat”
Hours: Monday-Saturday, 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. (west coast time) (that’s 8p.m. to midnight on the east coast) and sometimes they answer a bit earlier than that.
Or, if you are over 25 and want to talk to the same awesome organization call this number instead: 1-888-843-4564
I just talked to a guy at the Youth Talkline, youthtalkline.org, who was super nice and he said that even though the name of the place on the website is GLBT (which stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered) no one that works there cares if you are any of those things or totally straight or you don’t know what you are or you are blue or purple or tall or fat or blond or whatever.
And they will talk or chat with you about whatever you want to in total privacy. He also said they have over 15,000 different resources of different people and places all over the country that might be able to help you out regarding all sorts of stuff. These people will just talk to you about whatever is on your mind, and you don’t even need to tell them your name if you don’t want to. They sound like they know a lot and probably have some good ideas on how to help you out.
And whatever, whoever, however, wherever you are if you want to talk or ask me questions just email me, jessejamesblog@gmail.com, and we can get in touch. I would love it. (I’m the only one who reads my email!) And if I’m not who you need/want to talk to and those numbers above aren’t the right fit, maybe I can help you find a better fit.
Also, just so you know, I’m really sorry that whoever is calling you gay is making you feel confused about why they are saying that. And if they are hurting your feelings I’m really sorry you are getting your feelings hurt.
And even though we don’t know each other, do me a favor, go to a mirror, point your finger at yourself and say this as loud as you want to (it’s long, you might want to write it down first):
NONE OF THIS NAME CALLING CRAP IS MY FAULT AND I AM NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG! I AM AWESOME AND FABULOUS. I DO NOT DESERVE TO BE CALLED NAMES OR TEASED OR BULLIED OR MADE TO FEEL BAD OR SCARED OR UNCOMFORTABLE BY ANYONE AT ANY TIME EVER, EVER, EVER IN MY WHOLE LIFE… EVER!!! I DESERVE LOVE AND KINDNESS AND RESPECT AND NOTHING LESS!!! AND IF THEY DON’T KNOCK IT OFF JESSE JAMES WILL KICK THEIR BUTTS!!!
OK, that last sentence isn’t true and is actually a really, really bad idea!!! We’re working towards peace here… no butt kicking necessary.
Get in touch with that youth talk line (youthtalkline.org) and see how it goes, you have nothing to lose – or get in touch with me, but get in touch with someone, ok?! A lot of folks care about you and really don’t want you to be having a hard time. I don’t even know who you are and I’ve been thinking about you all week. I care about you.
So, that’s all I got for now, which isn’t a lot for this much writing.
Take good care of yourself, buddy. I’ll be thinking about you.
jesse james
I’m not sure how possible it is to keep track of all of the Homo-got-some-rights-aaaand-now-homo-lost-his-rights bills and referendums that are being passed and proposed in this country anymore, but in my fine state of Washington we recently passed a semi-homo-loving bill that was dubbed the ‘Everything But Marriage’ bill which grants domestic partners all of the same Washington state laws and rights that our one-man/one-woman-I-liked-it-so-I-put-a-ring-on-it friends enjoy. Minus getting to use that oh so sacred M word, this bill is progress.
And, just like the story goes everywhere in this country, where something happens to make the world a better place there are always mean, ugly, grouchy, party pooper haters out there, lurking in the background, all ready to try and keep the world as segregated, discriminating, and unjust as possible… or in their words, ‘moral’.
So, after the Everything But Marriage bill passed here a queer-hating referendum to reverse the bill was proposed and received all of the signatures necessary to make it to the ballot. This means we the people of Washington state now get to vote on Referendum 71, specifically designed in attempt to reverse letting all consenting adults in a relationship have the ability to legal protections and to legally care for each other no matter if non or both tend to leave the toilet seat up.
Their angle: Preserve Marriage, Protect Children.
…What the eph are you ephing… eh hem, well, I would ask them to kindly explain this logic but they recently bailed on the town hall debate that they had agreed to. Convenient. Maybe they are too busy protecting their children or preserving their marriages? Don’t I mean marriage, you ask? NO. Marriages.
A few important side notes about the dickwads that created this bullshit (am I still sounding neutral?): One of them has been divorced several times, to which I have no personal opinion on – just seems that we must have different ideas of the word “preserve.” If by “preserve” you mean like the jelly kind that you put on toast and once it is opened it will eventually expire and then you have to throw it out and go buy more jelly, ok… I just thought you meant… you know what, never mind. Oh, and the other asshole doesn’t even live in Washington.
So, on a much lighter and way more entertaining note, here is fabulously relevant and funny and cute song with two cute girls with cute voices singing about the absurdity of some arguments to keep this country ‘moral’. Specifically about when Pat Robertson said that if we legalized gay marriage we might as well legalize child molestation and bestiality. Strong case there, Patty! And if you are a bit pissed off like I accidentally made myself writing this post, this video will help bring you back down. It’s funny and cute, and its a song about sex with ducks… did I mention that?
Well, it’s Thursday. Happy Friday-eve, folks! Happy Cherday everyone!
Last night I was on the phone with my buddy Sinclair (maybe you’ve heard of her?), talking up a storm about this and that, like I do and like she so patiently wades through, when all of a sudden she said, “ok, it’s booked.”
… as in my ticket to New York. is. booked.
We have had this in the works for some time and finally, finally, the time is right and it is all coming together. In just a few weeks we will be painting the town together like we do and do oh so well. I will also finally get to meet Kristen, which, of course, I very much look forward to. I have my fingers crossed that I will get to have a drink with GR-E.G, and maybe even Leo and Freedomgirl?
And oh yes, it is no accident that the weekend I am there just happens to be the same weekend as my name twin (minus the Andrew part and the capital J), Mr. Jesse Andrew of Jess I Am is having his top surgery fundraiser/31st birthday. Sin and I have planned my trip around this fabulous event and I am quite excited. I have wanted to meet Jesse and Tina for some time now and really look forward to the party.. eh hem, I mean fundraiser. (Oh, by the way, donate for gawds sake! Even just a buck or two. But let’s help get this guy get where he’s going already!)
Well folks, that’s the newest news from this puppy-eyed westcoast blogger. So, thank you economy, for sucking hard enough to put us both out of work at the same time so we can burn money, which we have none, and time, which we have too much, together, finally.
And to you, Sin, a little song from me to you :
(p.s. SOMEONE! I need the guitar chords to this song! How is it that I can’t find them anywhere? I have some of it figured out but need to teach myself the entire acoustic version so that I can feel whole and complete – and also so that I will have the option to embarrass myself with some sort of terrible drunken concert of sorts whenever the mood strikes.)
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