Weirdly zippered shirt

Wore my inexplicably zipped Helmut Lang shirt. Asked my most recent, but over, crush to take this photo, and he did. My crushes don't last as long as they used to these days. These days, if I like someone, I get their number and wait 5 days, then leave them a voicemail. But then nothing happens. It took a long time for me to learn that you're supposed to wait 5 days before calling someone if you like them. Maybe while I was learning to play that game, everyone moved on to a new game?

Ran into Menalik, too, on the day I wore this shirt. Earlier in the year, he told me he liked my jacket, and I was so happy - I felt as if he was accepting me on behalf of the younger, effortlessly fashionable, generation. The kids have finally tuned in to my look. In much the same way, during our last lunch, when movie star-handsome Matt from Out magazine gave me a hug, I felt as if the gays had finally accepted me as one of their own.  

Yankees game in a Mets hat

Peppar and her husband and son were in town. Went with them to see the Yankees. Lest anyone be confused about my baseball loyalties, I wore my Mets hat. I wanted to see if anyone would start a fight with me because of my choice of hats, but other than a few comments, things 
went smoothly. A-Rod hit a homer when it was completely unnecessary - the team already had a big lead. I could totally relate, though. In my life, the only times I'm able to hit it out of the park are the times when things are already okay. In a clutch, though, I choke.  I noted with interest that the Yankees still do the old ballpark tradition of announcing on the Jumbotron the birthdays of fans in attendance.  I thought that it might be funny for A-Rod if, just for fun, on August 15th, the Jumbotron wished Madonna a happy 50th.  

Sunday in NYC

I switched nights with my sister, so I ended up at home for a full Sunday, which doesn't usually happen.  I decided to go to Chelsea to see if my powers have completely faded away with age.  I put together a casual-looking outfit with considerable effort (I have a habit of dressing too theatrically on the weekends, and I was trying to look a little butch today) - I put on a pair of khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, striped socks, and a smart blue hat.  I went through a period where I wore a lot of hats in the summer, like Eleanor Roosevelt, but lately I had been hatless.  So, I left my apartment feeling like I had put a little of my old hat magic back to use for a little of an old pastime - cruising in Chelsea.  

Right away, I ran into my super, Jose, who looked and me, chuckled, and said, "nice hat."  I was aghast.  "What - does it make me look retarded?"  He paused for a second, then replied, "No, you look like you're chillin'."  I found that I could live with that, so I got in a cab.

I ran into that cute kid Ryan, who was hanging out with Doug, luscious as ever, and a friend of theirs.  Ryan reminded me that the Breeders were playing McCarren Pool later that day, and I debated going.  They marched off to a brunch to which I was clearly not invited, and I went to Camouflage to say hello to Tony.  There was nothing there that I loved, but I did find a nice pair of shorts in the Middle Eastern store across the street.  I pranced home.  Eventually, I decided not to go to McCarren Pool, because, after all, people who live in Manhattan shouldn't have to go to Brooklyn.  Plus, I saw the Breeders last month at Webster Hall.

With my hat on, I look a lot like my late brother Michael.  Oh, well.  Death will come soon for me, too, soon enough - but hopefully not today.  

Kirstie Alley

Today, Van and I saw truly one of America's biggest stars - Kirstie Alley - on 17th and Park Avenue South. She was dressed in a shapeless frock, and had oily hair, but really, she didn't look all that bad. She was buying counterfeit purses from an African on the street. She haggled with him for a looooong time, and I became uncomfortable for her. I was hoping she would walk past me after she had selected a purse and made her purchase, so that I could ask her if things really had come to this? But she didn't - she made straight for her red SUV with Virginia plates, probably off to some Scientology Center for, presumably, a coffee enema.

Since my last post, I've heard from two of the four guys to whom I gave my number. I don't know if I'll ever see them, though. The ball, as it were, is in their court. I wonder what Kirstie Alley would do with these men who find it hard to commit? Probably eat them, I don't know. Still, her career path gives me some hope - thanks to Kirstie Alley, I know that there is so much further to sink. And yet I still love her! I really do.

In other news, my new "Band of Outsiders" coral button-up shirt from Barneys.com arrived via UPS today, which means I can't buy any new clothes this weekend. : (

Happy pride

I can't believe I got sick on Pride day.  Woke up coughing this morning, bleah.  Aren't my powers supposed to be stronger on this my people's special day?  Oh, well.  I probably wouldn't have done the parade anyway.  I was in Queens feeling miserable.  I wonder if it had to do with making out with Ben yesterday?  He was so adorable!   

I gave three four guys my phone number in the past two weeks.  Two of them I know somewhat, one I was cruising in Club Monaco, and one is a singer whose interviews always crack me up.  None of them called me.  When things like that happen, it makes me remember why I used to drink.  Luckily, I'm jaded by now, and pretty satisfied with being alone.  Still, yesterday I went over my clothing allowance by two t-shirts, so I can't have been feeling very emotionally stable.   

I have been a terrible blogger of late, and I have been an even worse creative writer.  I will post more soon, I swear.  : ) 

Philadelphia fun

I rented a car in Philadelphia, and decided to drive to the Philadelphia Outlet Malls, 35 miles outside of the “city.” It took two hours – crazy traffic. Where, I wondered, where all of these drivers trying to get to? King of Prussia? Ho-ho-kus? By the time I got to the outlet malls, I was crazy late, so I dashed into a Banana Republic and bought a dress shirt and a more casual shirt, and I dashed into a Puma store for some underwear. At the Puma store, the high school girl at the register showed me which underwear was men’s (they were all on the same rack) but whenever I saw a pair I liked, I looked at the tag and there was a woman on it. I didn’t want to inadvertently buy women’s underwear, though it wouldn’t be the first time that my tastes in clothing have led me to the women’s section by accident. So I bought a boring 3-pack of boxer briefs. Amazingly, I stayed under budget, for once. I then got back in the car and drove back to my hotel, then tried to drive to the dance performance at Temple University. The traffic was insane again, and I didn’t even get there in time. Jeremy was texting me, and eventually I gave up trying to reach Temple, and drove back to the hotel again, where Jeremy met me. One of the many things I learned that night was that Jeremy is a Republican. A gay Republican! I can hardly believe it. Of course, that made me want him more. Since part of romance is violence, I love being romantic with people whose views I don’t share, or who are distant, etc., so that I can get out my anger and frustrations on these stand-ins for whole groups of people, whole ways of life. We spoke a bit about economic theory, but neither of us was budging from our points of view. I did explain, though, that I’m a Democrat in name only – really, I’m a libertarian-slash-socialist, though that may seem like an oxymoron. I guess I want all individuals to be free to be like everyone else, though that doesn’t sound right. If I really wanted that, wouldn’t I shop at the Gap more? Anyway, the next day, I was caught in more traffic (and street closings) on my way to the Philadelphia Museum of Art to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit. I gave up again and drove to the train station. How ironic that I thought I would be able to symbolically snub Mrs. Clinton and Obama on this trip, when in reality, they hampered my ability to get around with their Secret Service-mandated street closings and such!!! A week later I tried on the casual shirt from Banana Republic, and I looked hideous in it. Ugh, it was so shiny and blue. But Jeremy contacted me that day and told me again how much fun he’d had, and I fell in love with Philadelphia and all its contents again. I’ll be there again on June 2nd, for Paul Taylor Dance (for reals this time, yo!) on Jeremy’s birthday weekend. I’m going to give him an unbelievably big present.

Ghost of Chelsea

Went with Van to meet MB at Cafeteria, and afterwards we walked back to work. We were passing all these guys I knew, and Van and MB of course assumed I'd slept with them all. I'm proud to say I haven't slept with those particular guys, but imagine the odds of that? We passed some queen with tighter pants than I'll ever squeeze into, and I wanted to say acidly to him, "Oh, honey - I understand," but I inhaled my bile, instead of uttering it, which is still novel enough to give me a secret thrill whenever it happens. As I was thinking that thought, I noticed that the woman in front of me was wheeling herself in a wheelchair while wearing a fur coat. Fabulous! I had to stifle a guffaw - that is so me-two-months-from-now! Of course if I was in a wheelchair, I would have to offset that fact with fur. I had to snap her picture, and I pray that she doesn't find this blog post (again, imagine the odds). I immediately knew I would blog about her, and that doing so would expand the worldview of this blog tremendously - instead of just blogging about my outfits, now I can say that I also blog about other people's outfits. As we passed that poor wheelchair-woman, Van noticed that she had a leopard-print kerchief wrapped around her face, and underneath that was a surgical mask. Buzzkill! Now I can't fool myself into thinking that was fabulous - she actually probably has serious medical issues. People always ruin the fun of me mocking them. : ( Anyway, we looked back after a couple of seconds, to get another look at the poor soul, but she had vanished, which gave me a good title for this post, at least.