My GBF Takes My V (Day) Card, Part 1

Y’all know a lot about me by now- or could, if you wanted to. I’ve put a lot out here, because frankly, holding back? Not really my style. In fact, I frequently describe myself as “vomiting my personality onto others unaware, whether they’re interested or not.” (Oh, sorry, did I get a little bit on your shirt? Here, let me get that for you.) I like being that way- “Here’s Me! Do you like it? Not so much? Okay, no biggie. They like me over there. Ciao!” It makes making friends and meeting kindred spirits and such much easier. Point being, I’m kind of a hawt mess. And that’s? Okay.

ANYHOO, now that this is all disclaimered and shit, let me take you on a journey, inspired by Shannon’s weekend trip back to my college stomping grounds. We shall look through the window to the past, back to a time when I was much younger, when life was much drunker.

Let’s get nostalgic, baby.

My junior year of college was spent frolicking up and down Franklin Street on the arm of my fabulous gay boyfriend, Thomas.

Having met through working at a restaurant, we were all too friendly with far too many of the 50-or-so bars and their many tenders. Linda’s on Mondays. La Rez on Fridays. Thursdays were 80s night at Bub’s and Lucy’s. Saturdays we’d pop in Top O, just to pronounce it full of all the people we hated (and the many frat guys that he’d “Top-O’ed”- groan) and head to somewhere much more trashy, where two shots of Cuervo would be waiting for us at the bar the moment we walked in. We were known as “Will and Grace” or “Everyone’s Favorite Non-Couple.” I’d suffered a horrible break up that fall, and Thomas was exactly the kind of rebound I needed. There was drama (as there is wont to be in the world of gay boys), but we were always on a side together, oftentimes against everyone else. I had a partner in crime and for the first time since moving to Carolina, I felt like I belonged. For the first time in over a year, I was finally really having fun.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, Ot Five. Thomas was newly 21, (I preceded him by a whole 4 months), and we were still basking in the thrill of walking into any bar, any bar we want!!! and you know, NOT being afraid of getting arrested. We worked a dinner shift at the hell that was our restaurant- thanks to a set $50-per-head menu, our normally thin pockets were suddenly lined with green. Busting ass to get out of there, we rushed home to his apartment to change, and to start in on our newly acquired gallon of Cuervo Gold. The theme of our night? Was Fuck Valentine’s Day. (Did I mention he was bitter and single as well?) I had never had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, due to many years of break-up/make-up relationships (or maybe just really smart exes), so we determined that I would spend my first V Day ever on the arm of a gorgeous man.

A couple a few a gazillion shots later, we made it to our first stop, La Rez. It was a Wednesday night, not yet 11pm, and things were quiet. Our favorite bartender spotted us and said hello with a bottle of tequila upended. Things were undeniably about to get messy. In order to make sure they did, we decided to steal each other’s phones and see how many of the other person’s exes we could get to show up to our next stop, Top O. We stumbled over to Chapel Thrill’s most famous (and pretentious) bar and somehow got up the three flights of stairs (thankfully I wasn’t wearing heels, because FUCK Valentine’s Day- clearly, our mantra for the evening).

No sooner did we arrive than I spotted the man-boy who had been stringing Thomas along for the past few months, using all the typical asshole tricks- flaking on dates only to booty call later, bad mouthing behind his back to the gay community, leading him on only to be a complete dick in public later. I was drunk, and I’d had enough. After a shot or 3 for courage, I stormed the bar table where he was sitting on the balcony with OUR friends (yet another nice little move he’d pulled in the “break-up”- stealing his friends and trying to turn them against him). With Thomas watching me wearily, knowing all too well that I wasn’t in the mood to play nice, we managed to make pleasant chit-chat for a moment or two before I sidled up and stage-whispered in Asshat’s ear…

“You are a complete and total asshole,” I hissed menacingly. “Don’t think that I don’t know every little thing you’ve done to him, and I just want you to know… if you EVER hurt him again, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.”

I chose this moment to face plant into the table. What can I say? I am a master of powerful punctuation.

As Thomas picked me up, half mortified, half laughing his ass off at me, I thrust my index finger (uh, at least I think it was my index finger…) in Asshat’s face and growled, “I MEAN IT.” My GBF dragged me away from the now beer-y table and back to the bar. When one of our regular bartenders refused to serve us, we knew we were done for the night. Leaning on Thomas, we made our way out of the bar. I stood on the landing and lo

oked down at the three flights of stairs we had to conquer. And I did what any reasonable person would do.

I laid down and went to sleep.

to be continued…