An Actual Conversation

Him: Put it in.
Me: Oh yeah.
Him: Oh god yeah.
Me: Mmmmmm.
Him: Harder
Me: Ummmmmm.
Him: Hey...
Me: Oh yeaaaah
Him: Ummm?
Me: Your drinks will be ready in a minute.
Him: What!?
Me: Huh? Oh sorry.
Him: Did you just fall asleep?
Me: I was just in the moment.



Note to self: Got to stop working doubles.

Tuna's View

Hey guys. Tuna Girl here again.

Poor Patrick. He really has missed blogging. So much so that even though he woke up late for work this morning, he tried to post an entry before he left. In fact, in his own words from the beginning of that post:

"Ok...I'm a bad blogger. I haven't been posting. I suck really hard. I get on my knees and use my mouth and...oh..sorry...I'm getting distracted."

Unfortunately, Blogger wasn't cooperating with him. Which I think might just be Karma in action, since he was making fun of me in his post. But in his frustration he asked me to guest blog today.

Which I am happy to do. Except...well. I think most people come to Traveling Spotlight for the humor. Let's face it. Patrick can be pretty damn funny. And he's even funnier in person. (Most often at my expense, but hey.) So when I write for him here, I do my best to be humorous too.

But I'm just not in a funny mood today. And funny isn't something that you can force. I've been struggling all day to start writing. And here I sit at 9 o'clock at night, finally putting words to screen.

If there is one thing I've learned in the past year or so of blogging myself, it is that when you can't be funny, it is best to be sincere. Patrick knows this too. As funny as he is, he can also be very poignant. He has shared here about his cancer and his father. He has shared who he is. And that takes courage.

And if there is something I've learned as a guest blogger, it is that you should always, always, always write about the owner of the blog.

But there is a fine line between sincere sharing and sappy overload. There is a fine line between giving you a glimpse of Patrick's life from another viewpoint, and oversharing.

So I'm going to start by telling you about just how much Patrick is really working here. You can't possibly understand just how dedicated he is to earning money to get his life jump started without seeing his face every night. I've known some dedicated people in my life. Hell I'm one of them. But he is a man on a mission. And he's exhausted.

But he still makes the effort to take time for all of the people who are demanding of him. It's amazing how he can take just five minutes of free time and make them fun. You wouldn't believe how many friends he has made here. We can walk from one end of the main drag in Provincetown to another and it will take us an hour because he stops every few feet to chat with some friend or another.

And I'm one of the people making demands on him. Though he says that I'm not. He had a morning off a couple of days after my daughter's birthday, and instead of spending it with some hot guy in P-Town, he spent it with my daughter. He bought her an Easy Bake Oven and spent the morning helping her make birthday cakes. Let's just call it Easy Patrick's Bakery.

And one morning, he got a phone call just as he was leaving for work and didn't say goodbye to my kids. When my son figured this out he was really upset. After he cried for a while I called Patrick on the phone so that he could say goodbye via digital means. I could hear them on the phone. Patrick said, "You know I love you, right?" Oh, sniff! Patrick felt so strongly about making sure my son felt better, that he canceled his plans for an overnight in P-Town and made an exhausted drive home so he could see my son in the morning.

You know, I call Patrick "Uncle Patrick" and I think he thinks that I'm kidding. But I'm not. He's family. Not just to me, but to my family too. In fact, my daughter even said to me recently, "Patrick is like your brother, Mommy." She's right. But he's more than that too.

So we all know about Patrick's sex drive. Many of us know about his financial woes and career struggles. We know that he is a survivor. We know that he is a friend. A great friend. We know that he is a comedian and a storyteller.

But I am privileged to know that he is an amazing family member with an overgrown heart too. And I wanted to share a little of that with you.

I didn't hurt you did I?

"Nice guys finish last!" So what do the assholes do, win the event? How do I stop being a nice guy? Lately I've been feeling that way. Problem is...I'm too nice of a guy to be that asshole I feel like I need to be. I always care too much for other people's feelings. Probably why I fell so hard for just such an asshole once, and why I was hurt so badly.

Being up here on the Cape, I've had the opportunity to make "nice" with some people, and I've enjoyed them (ok...getting laid in Provincetown is really easy), and for the most part, it's been casual. But I also have this nagging fear that I'm going to hurt someone. I'm temporary here, and when the weather turns cold, my two employers will close for the season and I'll be moving away from this fairy land to a whole new world. I'm not good relationship material now.

Ever notice when you are not looking for a relationship, you could so easily find one? If I make it through this summer without breaking a heart, I'm going to be real happy.

The Brass Ring

There is an antique merry-go-round located in Connecticut that still has the ring dispenser which patrons can attempt to grab as they go around on the ride. Each time as you pass, you need to stretch your arm way out and if you are lucky enough, grab a hold of the ring and take your prize. Thus the phrase "grabbing the brass ring".

Have I mentioned how tired I am getting? I've been working like a madman at two different jobs. The one job has become the place of hell. Staff turns over there on a daily basis, the boss is the biggest condescending bitch I have ever met (and being gay, I've met a lot of them), and honestly, I leave the place so very stressed out. I also usually work prime shifts there so I can make a decent buck.

The big fish and her hubby want me to quit, but I keep seeing that brass ring I'm stretching out for. Rent and utilities for nearly a year in NYC, giving me that much time to find a decent job that will pay my bills. Potential freedom from everything that chained me down while I was in Cleveland. And temptations away from that brass ring are appearing everywhere around me. Dell is having a sale on computers, I haven't bought clothes since 2000, artwork is everywhere up here, and this pair of $400 sunglasses I look so very good in (although after the parking lot incident, I get those at a discount). So the questions I find myself asking is, "Can I last 3 more months in that hell hole without going postal? Can I continue to work there and not take a bottle of vodka and shove it up the owner's ass? Can I keep my cool that long?" Seriously. I'm about to go Julia Sugarbaker all over somebody there, and it will not be pretty.

Until then, I've been holding a picture of the city every day, and thinking of that each time I think of reducing my income, or spending what I've made. But damn does that brass ring seem far away.

Public Forums

"Wait...You're single and working in P-Town?...Oh...You're going to have a really fun summer..." ~One of my regular customers.

Well it would be true if I wasn't working so damn much. The nice thing is that I am making money to pay future rent, but being a bartender, I find that I have a hard time having the "fun" that everyone else keeps telling me about when I get out of the bar at 2AM.

But I will tell you about a "friend's" recent fun.

I He was recently asked out on a date by a nice guy who works in the area. Things progressed nicely, and the guy walked me him back to my his car to say good night. A few kisses and a hug later, I he made the mistake of kissing his neck. Now anyone who knows me, would know that I have a thing for kissing necks. Well upon kissing his neck, things took a bit more serious and immediate tone. Hands started groping, shirts became unbuttoned and eventually, more erect body parts were being removed from pants. At that point, I my "friend" heard the sound of voices.

Knowing where this was going, I...I mean my friend suggested we get into a car so that they could continue this with somewhat privacy. Does anyone realize how small a Honda Civic is when you are laying with the seats reclined? Shirts came off, socks and shoes and eventually his pants were pulled down to the ankle area. I sincerely feel sorry for the person who may have been walking by, as all they would have seen was a pasty white ass being pushed into the windshield of the car.

The windows had completely fogged up, allowing for as much privacy as possible when "my friend" heard a strange sound. Sort of a clinking. I he though it was the car keys hitting a gear shift or something, but then the sound started again, a little more distinct. I looked to my friend, who currently had his mouth full, and then looked up, to see an old woman peering into the driver's seat window. It was the parking lot attendant.

I stopped my friend's action and slowly lowered my window to inquire what this old woman wanted.

"Can I help you?" I said.
"Take these. The back corner of the lot is the darkest. Play safe." She answered, as she handed me two condoms and a small packet of lube.

Apparently she is well versed in the complexities of gay car sex. As we my friend left the parking lot an hour later (after moving to the dark corner), she gave us both a wink and asked if we had a good night.

Only in P-Town.

Thank god this didn't happen to me. I don't think I could have blogged about it.