I made French Onion Soup tonight. I needed kitchen twine for the recipe but didn’t have any. I had to use a sprig of rosemary to tie my herb bundle together. And once it was in that pot, it did not stay. I really could have used that Williams & Sonoma acorn twine dispenser that you thought was so funny, the one you made fun of in their catalog, thinking it was so superfluous. It could have saved my soup. (That turned out excellently anyways.) But it would have saved me the time I spent spooning through it to fish out all the errant sprigs of thyme and rosemary. Just goes to show you that some kitchen accessories really are valuable.
Kyle and I cabbed it out to his place in Brooklyn, stopping by his neighborhood bodega for some snacks. For some reason, during the cab ride home, we’d become obsessed with the idea of getting Pringles. (I know, who doesn’t love Pringles? But then again, it’s not exactly the first drunk snack that comes to mind. Usually I go for something like a bacon, egg and cheese all pressed between the buns of a crispy bagel and oozing out or a burrito over-stuffed to bursting with chicken and sour cream and rice.)
Drunk and loopy on tiredness, I’m sure it was a sight seeing us order our Pringles. The bodega itself was closed, but they had a guy in there running things through a little order-out-window. We got just about every variety of Pringle they had…which was really only two — BBQ and Jalapeno. (If you’ve never had Jalapeno, go out and try it immediately! It was the best thing ever on a drunk tongue. It’s flavor scorched right through the boozy coating on my tongue left there after five hours of drinking and about eight whiskey-cokes.)
After getting our two cans of Pringles, we made our way to Kyle’s place. We sat there in his living room for about another hour, chatting comfortably and eating our Pringles. Not a single one was left by the time we made it to his bedroom.
We started hooking up, but then I fell asleep. My tiredness had finally gotten to me.And really, it was probably for the best.
When I woke up this morning, we hooked up and had a nice, casual goodbye. There was no running out of there at the sun’s rise, no pressure to feel like I was overstaying my welcome. It was comfortable. We chatted like usual.
It was nice having someone like that to just sit in bed with on a Saturday morning and shoot the breeze, like we used to do on weekend mornings when we didn’t have plans. There’s a comfort in it, in sharing a morning with someone special, even if you’re only friends. I certainly enjoyed it. It was the perfect kind of morning, bright skies outside, the light streaming through Kyle’s curtains just so, lounging comfortably in bed.
Eventually Kyle had some sort of dip brunch to get to. So I left him and walked towards the train, stopping at Chipotle on my way, getting that over-stuffed burrito that I usually want as a late night, drunken snack.
It was delicious, sitting there in Brooklyn, watching the bright street outside of the Chipotle as I thought back on the night I’d had, knowing, somehow, that things wouldn’t be weird with Kyle afterwards. Not like they were with Mitchell F.
I guess I’m making my way through friends of friends. Probably not the best strategy, but Jeremy doesn’t care. He would encourage it, I think. There’s a sense of security in it. A friend of mine is also your friend…that means he vouches for you; I know that you’re not loony. And maybe that’s exactly what I need for my rebound hook-ups, someone I can trust, someone I can be comfortable with, even if only a little bit.
So last night was interesting. I would say I had a first, but actually it was a second. Would that make it a trend now? God, I hope not.
I was out at my new favorite gay bar, The Boiler Room — favorite because drinks are super cheap and because it’s in the East Village where I know I won’t run into you. I was there with Jeremy and his friend Kyle. I’ve met Kyle a couple of times. He’s fun. Cute. Works in fashion. The three of us were all scoping out the boys, trying to find someone worth talking to and maybe taking home.
Believe it or not, I started talking to someone. He was this super tall guy (like two or three inches taller than me), so I was surprised I took a liking to him.
(If there’s one thing that I am NOT into, it’s a tall guy. You were just about the same height as me, so it was fine. But with taller guys I always think that I’m tall enough as is. I don’t need someone even taller looking down on me. And with really really tall guys they always seem to have something a little off-putting about their look. Either they’re super-skinny, looking like a scarecrow with these really thin and long arms and legs, or their normal-sized features don’t quite fit their over-sized bodies. Obviously there are exceptions to this. But when it comes to my own personal taste, I just don’t like being shorter than a guy.)
So this guy was tall and skinny. Also kind of pasty. He was cute, though. At law school. We actually figured out that he’s grown up with a girl I had dated for like a week back in college. So we had that awkward connection. His tall problem — he had little baby teeth. Like I said, something just didn’t quite fit his over-sized body.
But still, I was into him. It was for one night. And with the liquor in my system and the foggy, dark atmosphere of the bar, I really didn’t care or notice.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who thought this guy was cute. At some point I went to the bar to get a drink and turned back around to find my guy talking to Jeremy. My friend had stolen my man for the night.
Which actually didn’t make me that mad. So you know that I wasn’t really that interested in the guy. Let Jeremy deal with those baby teeth. Good luck to him.
With Jeremy taking my guy, I decided to take it easy for the night and started chatting with his friend, Kyle.
One problem with Boiler Room is that, since the drinks are so cheap, I almost always stay until closing time. So when 4AM rolled around, I was still there, exhausted, drunk and ready to go home. Jeremy had already left with my former-guy, but I wasn’t alone. Kyle was still there. And as we left the bar, both drunk and chattering away, we decided to go home together.
This is what I meant when I said that this was a second for me. The second time I’d gone home with a friend of a friend.