Gay Club Jet Lag

I’m pissed off. I’m in pain. I’m full of dreams. I’m full of stars. I have a voice. I love to sing. I love to dance. I love to drink. Not to excess. Well, I did last night but that was an accident. You can thank the daddies at The Townhouse for that. I just downed an Alka Seltzer hangover cure. Let’s see how well it works. This is not an official endorsement- unless someone reading this works for Alka Seltzer and wants to sponsor me. I’ll happily do sponsored content. As you all know from the many times I’ve complained about it, I have no money. Money, money, money. Money.

After I chugged my fourth whiskey sour of the night, I rose to the piano to sing. What did I sing? I couldn’t tell you. I messed up the words to every chan I tuesed. (Get it? Chanteuse. Right.) The pianist was properly pissed off at me and for good reason. It’s been a while since I sang in front of a crowd outside of karaoke, and I realized how little I knew the words to songs I used to be able to sing front to back. For the past few months, I’ve been dreaming about living my New York fantasy of singing in a lounge, which came true last night. I didn’t realize until I woke up this morning, still swirling, that I had checked a box off my bucket list.

Which just gets me thinking, what do I want to prioritize in life? This bucket list item came to me by chance, but as everyone must know by now, I am a meticulous planner. True, I’ve needed to learn to let go of the reins a bit and let life lead me, but I desperately crave control. In regards to the piano bar, I plan to practice and memorize my songs so I can be word-perfect and earn the respect of the pianist. My friends who have clearly never auditioned for anything in their lives didn’t seem to care much about our collective relationship with the pianist. Silly faggots, the pianist is always the most important person in the room.

If I’ve learned one thing from working in entertainment, everything you do is an audition and an interview. You have to grab life by the balls and charge if you plan on accomplishing your highest hopes and endeavors. I’ve started to master this mindset, realizing that any opportunity that comes your way might be a one-time thing. You may never have the chance to do X, Y, or Z again. But jesus, that’s a terrible way to think, isn’t it? Treat every scenario like life or death, force yourself to say yes to everything, and expect yourself to give your all.

My verve and commitment to the bit are two of my most praised virtues. It’s something that brings me joy, to know that I put all of myself into everything I do and that others recognize this. I want to be the best version of myself at all times, but pobody’s nerfect, as we all know. I’ve started to think that satisfaction is a myth. Once you reach the top of the hill, there’s always a taller mountain. Does that metaphor even make sense? Even now, I’m feeling unsatisfied with my writing. I’m upset that I used the word “even” in two sentences in a row and couldn’t find a better replacement for one of them.

As I wrote when I first started this blog, my writer’s block got the best of me last year. I’ve done a much better job at sticking to my practice and indeed, it’s brought me a lot of satisfaction when I see how much I’ve written. However, after a while, knowing that consistent practice generally improves one’s skills, I catch myself in my old patterns of thinking, waiting to feel that I’ve made something truly great. I come to Google Docs and tell myself, your two readers expect more from you by now. Give them something good. 

What if an Alka Seltzer corporate diva really is reading this, and the quality of this post determines the aforementioned sponsorship? What if that turns into a full-on brand deal? Then I become the face of Alka Seltzer, marry a rich man with heartburn who harbors sympathy for my digestive struggles, and then live happily ever after. Of course, if this piece of writing is total shit, Alka Seltzer will never reach out to sponsor me, I’ll go bankrupt, and then I will die alone with no one to comfort me besides the dark shadow of my IBS.

Both of these life paths are delusional and highly unlikely, but my brain accepts them as truth. What affirms these fears is my quest for satisfaction, knowing that pride and pleasure in my work are never permanent. It invokes the classic question, why bother? And it’s not just satisfaction in myself, but also the world around me. I look at election updates and think- we’re all going to be dead from WWIII in a year. Why bother? I got hit by an electric scooter on Tuesday and I have limited mobility. Why bother? If I do survive the next chapter of current events and live to be 60, 70, 80, etc. I know for a fact that I’ll have some form of dementia. So why bother? 

Well, the last one is a bit inspiring, to be honest. I hope to have enough exciting life experiences that when I reach that moment in time, I say outrageous things to my grandchildren, such as I saw the Twinks vs. Dolls cigarette race, or I got drunk on the BRAT boat (that’s tonight, so this is wishful thinking). Maybe there is a point to life. But how do I know I’m doing it right?

All this to say, the pursuit of satisfaction feels like I’m running on a hamster wheel. Hamsters have the biological advantage of not having human brains. They just run on the wheel until they get tired, drink water, eat, sleep, shit, and forget why they stopped running in the first place. But it’s much more complicated for humans. Our society is plagued by social media and capitalism. 

In the same way that there’s always a greater task to accomplish, there’s always someone living life better than you. As they say, thief is the comparison of joy, but I can’t help but think I’m doing something wrong when I see some gay I met at a rave lounging at his Fire Island pool while my roommates and I huddle in front of the only AC unit in our apartment. I got the quote mixed up back there but it flows better that way and I know you get what I mean.

Even now I’m writing in circles trying to describe this feeling as perfectly as I can, but nothing quite hits the mark. I’m running on the hamster wheel of this blog post while simultaneously running on the greater hamster wheel of my writing journey while running on the even greater hamster wheel of life. So in this sense, getting off the wheel is death. There is no alternative. My two options for anything are to live in dissatisfaction or to simply quit altogether. 

And I’m still doing it. I’m writing and rolling my eyes for wanting to be profound. Being deep and being smart are intangible things. Why don’t I stick to what’s directly in front of me? Is this why people practice gratitude? Well, let me begin. I’m grateful for Miss Thick, the portable AC unit in my living room. I’m grateful I have a computer to cram my silly little thoughts into. I’m grateful for water. I’m grateful I have a bed. I was going to say I’m grateful that I’ll soon be moving into an apartment where my bedroom will have a window, but I’m not grateful because it hasn’t happened yet. If anything, I’m upset that I still have to wait two weeks until I can live with natural light in my enclosure. 

This is the trap of the hamster wheel, of seeking satisfaction. I know I’ll be grateful and pleased to upgrade my bedroom, but I need to be patient. Otherwise, I’ll build an expectation and find myself disappointed before I’ve even arrived. This is the worst part about ambition- no matter how hard you work or how wildly you dream, there’s still a high chance that whatever you’re gunning for takes time. If I know what I want, why delay my dreams? For example, I want to live in Europe. So why don’t I just cancel my new lease and buy a plane ticket and just go? Oh right, because I don’t have a job there or any money or anywhere to live.

A few weeks ago, I met someone who in the first few minutes of knowing each other asked me- “what’s your five-year plan?” I couldn’t help but think, is this faggot serious? As time passes, I’m starting to see why one might have such a plan. While I don’t think my five-year plan is anyone’s business but my own, it’s a humbling reminder that shit takes time. I want so much out of life. Is that wrong? I constantly feel like I’m going to die sometime in the next 48 hours. Just the other day my friends admonished me for thinking I might get struck by lightning, but to be fair I was outside during the storm on Wednesday and it was really scary. And again, I got rammed into by an electric scooter on Tuesday. I think the universe is out to get me. It whispers in my ear that I’ll never get what I want. 

Putting aside the attempted scootercide, I’m in a place right now where I could say I feel satisfied with myself, but as always, I want more. Okay, so let’s return to gratitude. I’m doing well in life. I have a job, I have tickets to BRAT boat. But truly, I’d be most grateful if I died in a freak accident because then I wouldn’t have to worry about never making my dreams happen. Or maybe by dying from some degenerative disease, because then on top of letting go of my expectations for myself, I’d get sooo much attention out of it.

In short, satisfaction feels shameful when I know there’s still something better than what I’ve just accomplished. I seem to be pulling many quotes from the lexicon today, but what’s that shit my elementary school teacher used to say? “Good, better, best, Never let it rest, until your good is your better, and your better is your best.” I’m realizing now that nowhere in the text does it say you’re not allowed to feel good about yourself along the way. Is this a failure of the American Education system or ignorance on my part? I don’t want to blame myself so I choose to blame America.

As I sprint on the hamster wheel of pleasure, I’m basically writing the same shit I wrote exactly four months ago (omg happy four months blog <3). This is the point where I have to pull away from an old lesson I’ve already learned and ask myself what’s different. 

So I come back to last night, knowing I have the power to define that moment as a victory. I have permission to pat myself on the back for singing, for finding a stable job, and for writing this blog post even though it feels like a regurgitation of something I’ve said before. I want so much for myself and I often fear I’m not capable enough to make it happen. I must turn to Mariah Carey for strength, and tell myself to chill the fuck out. 

Satisfaction is not a magical fix for insecurity. It’s a stepping stone to personal evolution. One last quote to round us out for the night before I have to get ready for Gay Guy Friday- it’s about the journey, not the destination. Well in my eyes, death is the final destination, and we can view life as the journey. Warning- I’m about to combine metaphors- focusing on the destination is focusing on the satisfaction of the hamster wheel, rather than the entire journey of the hamster’s activities. The hypothetical hamster doesn’t just live to run, he fills his day with the few things he has at his disposal. There’s more to life than the wheel. And as people, we have a whole world of opportunities.

I lied, by the way- I’ve got one more quote coming and then I swear I’m done. But as my psycho high school band teacher who is now dating a former student of his used to say, your curse is your blessing, and your blessing is your curse. (I’ll probably write about him and his turns of phrase some other day.) As humans, we’re luckier than the hamster because of all the many magnificent things we can do with our time on Earth. We’re also saddled by the expectations we place on ourselves and also by the abundance of choices. I think I’ve settled into a path where I’m no longer questioning what I’m doing- I’m doing what I want and I feel good about that. 

The problem lies in knowing what I’m working towards and being frustrated that I haven’t arrived at it faster. My ambition and my energy are two of my most significant virtues. As much as it makes me want to claw my eyes out, I now have to learn to make patience one of them as well. God. This is where I go to Google and ask “how to master patience quick and easy fastest”

Well, shit. Maybe Google has the answers. I suppose I’ll go fuck off and learn a thing or two before I go out tonight. Speaking of, remember my summer playlist for your pregames! Is it crazy to say “Apple” might be a new contender for song of the summer…? This is still the summer of “Nasty” but “Apple” is certainly making her way up the charts…

Anyhoo. Talk to you later. Maybe I’ll have something new to say next time. Or I won’t. Who gaf

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