The Ghost Of New Years Eve Past

So as I got dressed for work this morning I picked my outfit carefully as it would be the outfit I would be wearing into the New Year.  When I went to choose my shoes (I know, "I am so gay" as my brother in law would say), I came across a pair of brown "Doc Martin" boots and thought about wearing them.  Ironically these boots were actually given to me by the same brother in law referred to above 7 years earlier in 2001 on New Years Eve!  I remember it, because it was one of the most memorable and worst New Years Eves of my life.   I had just turned 21 years old about two months earlier, and I was bound and determined to go out on New Years Eve and spend the evening with my friends.  So I went an awful depressing house party, while I was there I called a different friend, Sean, to come pick me up.  While I was waiting for Sean to show up, I did what any mature responsible 21 year old would do... I drank as much of their liquor as humanly possible (and I can drink!) to make up for the fact that their party sucked!  So by the time Sean arrive I was beyond well buzzed.  Sean was just gonna give me a ride home, instead I insisted that I wanted to go with him to the party he was going to.  He agreed and off we went back to his apartment where he spent at least the next 2 hours getting ready (yes he's gay too). I have to elaborate here for a moment, he is polar opposite of me.  At the time, he was 98 lbs soaking wet, and obsessed that his cream colored ribbed turtle neck sweater coordinated w/ his brown and cream wool pin-striped pants and brown leather shoes and belt. The other 90 mins were spent applying cover up (yes cover up) and flat ironing HIS hair (and no he is not trans-gendered, just really vain and gay)  While he was getting ready, what did I do you ask?  I drank his liquor too of course.  And it didn't matter what kind of liquor it was.   He enlisted his favorite 19 year old fag hag, Ashley, to be the designated that night so both of us could drink at the house party we were going to.  So we got in the SUV and off we went.  It had snowed really ugly that day so driving conditions were questionable at best.  But we weren't far from the party and parked around the corner.  We went in and in true gay fashion there was liquor covering ever surface in the kitchen.  So being in a party surrounded by judgemental gay men I didn't know, what did I do?  I DRANK!  And drank, and drank, and drank.  At midnight, Sean had promised my neurotic mother that I would be on the phone, so when I was slurring my speech and could not walk he some how walked me down two flights of cement stairs and around the corner to his car where he called my mother and handed me the phone (I don't remember this conversation at all)  I gave him back the phone, and while he stuck it in the car I proceeded to pee on the tire of his car.  As we were walking back to the party, I decided snow angels were a good idea and fell on my back in the snow.  He (again being 98 lbs soaking wet) was trying to get me to stand up, and with very little trouble I pulled him down in the snow too!  He somehow managed to get me back up and back to the party.  The last thing I remember drinking was a red party cup of jungle juice from a large stock pot (not a good idea when you're at a party w/ people you don't know and there are older gay men dancing with minors) needless to say I still believe there was some kind of "roofie" or something in the jungle juice.   But I had so much before that, that I could not stand up let alone make it to the bathroom to vomit!  So Sean (the one who had spent so long getting ready and obsessing over his outfit (don't forget the snow angels)) held a cauldron sized pot in front of me, while Ashley had stood behind me and held my head while I involuntarily puked (*side note: I filled the pot 3 times).  Pretty I know, you should see the pictures.  Yes there are pictures because what do bitchy gay men do when they see someone suffering, the photograph it (thus youtube was born).  Sean finally called my parents and told them what was going on and to come get me, as my parents were walking out the door to get me...my lightly buzzed sister, brother in law, other sister and her then fiance'(that's a whole other story) heard what was going on and offered to come get me instead.  They called Sean for directions, he asked if he should call the paramedics and my sister who is a nurse said no (because she knew I didn't have insurance) and she would handle it when she got there.   When they got there my sister (who's the nurse) saw me and saw that I was ghost white and called 911.  The people at the party got pissed at my sister because she broke up the party, due to the minors that had been drinking.  The paramedics came and did a sternum rub because I was not responding, I eventually screamed and responded but my chest hurt for the whole next week (I'm just bummed I was out of it for the cute paramedics part of this story).  They were just about to haul me away in the ambulance to give me charcoal for alcohol poisoning when they got a call on there radio that there had been a shooting near by.  My sister said they would take me home and nurse me, they made her sign a waiver saying if I died my family couldn't sue.  My two sisters, brother in law, and sister's fiance proceeded to curse me and drag me down the two flights of cement stairs to the car (*side note: having numerous people ask you if your ass hurts after a night you can't remember is a little un-nerving).  They got me into the car, covered in puke, and got me home.  When I got home they laid me down on a blanket on my stomach in front of the bathroom.  (get your tissues ready, and this is the part I feel guilty about)  My mother laid down with her head by mine so she could hear if I was still breathing.  At some point I got up, stumbled down a flight of stairs, changed clothes, and brought the dirty ones up to my mother, and got into bed.  The next morning I woke up without much of a hangover, but my mother was standing in my doorway staring at me and I couldn't remember how I got home or in bed.  I had to ask her and was told the whole story, and didn't believe her at first.  That was the first and last time I've ever been that drunk.  It took a few years, but I haven't heard much in the way of grief from my family.  Oddly, I lost touch with and stopped being friends with Sean not long after that (I did however apologize to him, and the Ashley, the very next day).  Ahhhh fond memories!

Some Things You Should Know Before We Get Started...

Welcome into my life and my world!   And yes I say my world because Utah (which is where I live) as a whole, and the small suburb I've lived in my ENTIRE life, is a world unto itself.  Don't get me wrong, you can find some amazing people here... but it's like going shopping at a thrift store.  You have to sift through a lot of bullsh*t before you find those gems! It's 8:30am on New Years Eve 2008, and for god knows what reason I decided to start a blog.  Seemed like an appropriate activity for the day.  A little about me,  I'm a 28 year old gay man.  I know, I know, it sounds glamorous thanks to Hollywood...but in reality I'm not a stick thin meth addicted "twink" who fits into everything.  I'm a chubby "bear" of a gay man, half of my heritage is Italian so I'm hairy too!  I was raised Catholic is a state that is predominately Mormon.  For those of you that don't know much about Mormons (just ask, I consider myself an expert at this point) but the brief description goes something like this: waif like children with a dull hungry look who are taught to believe things that make no sense and never think to question why???   If I sound a little bitter it's only because I am.  I have spent the majority of my life feeling like an outcast, through no fault of my own.  First off there's the religion thing, ok being different builds character.  But growing up a stocky "solid" kid, because of the fine Italian cooking happening morning, noon, and night.  And being taught to emotionally eat by my paranoid neurotic mother didn't help either.  If you've ever seen "My BIG FAT GREEK Wedding"  that's my family only Italian.  I have 3 older sisters, yes I'm the baby, and they are all married and two of them have kids.  My nieces ages 9 and 22 months, and my nephews ages 3 and 5.   And my father, what can I say about my father.  He's an emotionally distant man, who married a dominate woman (my mother) and fits the gay stereotype just as well as I do (i.e. baking and Barbra and Broadway "OH MY!").   Ironically, it bothers him that I'm gay.  Not that he'll ever admit that, he's a much to politically correct pseudo liberal democrat to admit something like that.  So I have lived in the same city in the same state for my entire life, and now I find myself 28 years old living in the basement apartment of my parents house and working in a job in the insurance field.   Stay back, it's my glamorous life and you can't have it.  And doing things I truly enjoy, like singing and reading tarot cards and movies and being gay, on the down low because I need to get the hell out of Utah and away from my family.  Here's the paradox, I would miss my family insanely if I didn't see and/or talk to them on a daily basis.  So I stay and dream about traveling and being swept away by some gorgeous handsome millionaire like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina!  Stay tuned if you wanna find out more about the random goings on in my life.....