Blackouts and Breakdowns (3 page)

It was like we had gotten a high off of all of the goods we had stolen off of people’s yards.
Not knowing what to do with all of our merchandise, as our parents were sure to question where it all came from, I decided to leave it at the Starbucks that I worked at for safe keeping.
I was one of the managers at the time, so I had a key and let myself in to drop off the goods.
I scattered my goods throughout the Starbucks, leaving the Baby Jesus right by the cash register so everyone could bask in his glory as they were paying for their coffee.

The next morning, my co-workers were stunned to see my loot throughout Starbucks but thought it was hilarious nonetheless.
In fact, they thought it was so funny that someone drew a cup of coffee in the hand of the cardboard cutout of Baby Jesus and wrote “God Bless Starbucks” underneath it. Everybody loved the Baby J.
He was like our new mascot.

That evening, Stephanie, Evelyn and I met again, with full intentions for stealing a light up Baby Jesus.
We got into Evelyn’s car, smoked a few joints and were on our way.
We drove around the suburbs looking for a light up Baby Jesus.
Since the employees of Starbucks had defiled our cardboard Baby Jesus, we had to move on and find something that would last forever.
Our thievery had bonded the three of us and we were as thick as thieves now, literally.
We drove around but could not find a light up baby Jesus.
I resolved that we should go back to the church we had gone to the night before and try to steal the baby Jesus from there.

Evelyn pulled up to the church.
All was quiet as I hopped out of the car on ready for my mission.
I crept onto the lawn of the church looking for any nuns that may be hiding out in the bushes.
Baby Jesus was in eyeshot and I made a beeline for the nativity scene. Once I got there, I could see why Stephanie had so much trouble the night before.
There were cords everywhere and navigating where each cord went was like making your way through a labyrinth.
I managed to find the outlet, unplugged the Baby Jesus, grabbed the cord, and tossed the Baby J under my arm and ran back to Evelyn’s car.
When I got into the car, Evelyn and Stephanie were laughing so hard, I thought they were going to throw-up.

“Oh my God!” Evelyn said through her laughter, “that was the funniest thing I have ever seen.”

Stephanie was laughing so hard that she could not even speak.

“It was like you were carrying the Baby Jesus…”
Evelyn continued laughing hysterically, “like…” she was laughing so hard, I didn’t know if she was still breathing, “a FOOTBALL!”
She finally cried.
I don’t know if she thought it was funny because it was a Baby Jesus I had under my arm or that fact that it was the closest I had ever come to actually looking like I had ever played a sport.

The three of us sat in Evelyn’s car and laughed hysterically for the next few minutes. Happy with my latest conquest, I put the Baby Jesus on my dining room table and told my family that he was going to be our centerpiece for Christmas dinner that year.
A few days later, Evelyn called me and told me to pick up the town newspaper because she thought I would get a kick out of it.

I went to the corner and picked up the newspaper.
I flipped through it until I got to the section where the headline read: “THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MISSING BABY JESUS.”
My mouth dropped.
I had finally made it into the newspaper, except, no one knew it was I who had stolen the Baby Jesus.
The article chronicled the night that the Baby Jesus went missing from the local church and what they thought happened.
They even had a reward for anyone who knew his whereabouts.
Thinking my cheap brother might turn me in for cash, I knew I was going to have to put the Baby Jesus into seclusion.
I laughed because I thought it was funny, but the people at the church were outraged by what had happened. Evelyn, Stephanie and I decided never to steal again, but that Christmas was one of the most magical times of my life.

Where Are They Now?

The Baby Jesus – The Baby J and I had a long lasting relationship.
He came to New York with me, when I moved up there.
He stayed with me in every apartment I moved to until his light bulb blew out, almost causing a small fire. I ended up throwing him away.

The Black Santa – My little brother Kevin took care of the Black Santa for many years until he went to college and it was destroyed at a keg party.

The Potted Swan – The potted swan enjoyed a long career in my front yard, until it too was stolen, possibly by its rightful owners.

Frosty – Frosty enjoyed a long holiday career of entertaining the children on my father’s front yard.
When my father realized he was Jewish, he threw Frosty away.

Evelyn – Evelyn lives in Astoria, Queens in a building that is always decorated with Virgin Mary’s and Baby Jesus’ come Christmas time.
I have tried stealing them on several occasions, but she will never let that happen.

Stephanie – Stephanie now lives in Tampa and I think she is bisexual.

I’M COMIN’ OUT!

“Are you gay yet?”
Jason asked me as I approached him on the corner of 72nd Street and Park Avenue. I had just moved to New York a few days before and Jason knew it was only a matter of time before I would come out of the closet.
We had, after all, performed a medley of the songs of George M. Cohan together in high school chorus so I knew that he would not be surprised if I told him I was gay.

“Not yet,” I replied and then realized I meant to say “no.”
Jason smiled at me.
“I know when I do come out of the closet that I definitely do not want to be outed at a T.G.I.Friday’s like you were.”
A few years earlier, our friend Valerie outed Jason in front of all of our friends at a T.G.I.Friday’s after rehearsal for a show we were doing at the time.

“Ha,” Jason laughed, “next time we are eating at a Bennigan’s, I will make sure that I let Valerie’s mother know what a huge vagina enthusiast she is.”
We walked down the street and spoke about what our first days of college were like.
Jason and I had been friends for a while in D.C., where we grew up and then moved to New York at the same time.
I admired Jason because he was who he was and made no apologies for it.
He was outed at a chain restaurant in Bethesda, Maryland, in front of a group of his peers and took it in stride.
Nothing ever fazed him, but things were different in New York.
I knew it was only a matter of time, before I joined Jason as an out homosexual, but I figured day four was a bit too early to come out and I was nervous about what the repercussions might be.
Pretty much everyone in New York seemed gay, so I knew I would fit in immediately.
I had moved to New York to go to school, but I also moved there to be myself.
I was tired of D.C. and the way everyone always pretended to be something that they were not.
I knew in New York, I could be whoever I wanted to be and would be accepted.
As Jason and I discussed dorm life and how much we loved going to school in New York, he convinced me to go to a gay bar in the West Village where one of his friends from school was working.

“I don’t know if I want to go to a gay bar,” I said.

“Oh, whatever Mark.
You are queerer than a three dollar bill,” Jason replied.
“Just come.
It does not mean that you are gay if you hang out in a gay bar.
It will be fun.”

Jason and I made our way down to the piano bar in the West Village.
On the way, we passed a Ruby Tuesdays and although I was hungry, we did not stop to eat, as I was afraid Jason would out me.
Once at the piano bar, I realized it was like nothing I had ever seen in my life.
The bar was in the basement of a building and was pretty dingy looking. Inside the bar, gay men of every age, stood around a piano singing show-tunes and having a gay old time.
Everyone seemed so comfortable with themselves and everyone looked like they were having a great time.
Jason and I walked in and Jason went directly to the bar.

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” he said.
Jason, just barely out of high school and not old enough to legally buy cigarettes at this point, was given his drink as I watched in awe.
“What do you want?” he asked me.

“Uh,” I was trying to think of something exotic to drink.
I was playing with the grown ups now and needed to order something a little fancy.
“I’ll have a whisky sour, with lots of cherries.”

The bartender winked at me and gave me my drink and bypassed looking at my fake ID. I was so excited to be in a gay bar, drinking and singing show-tunes.
This was pretty much what I had imagined gay life in New York to be and I was thrilled to know that my dreams had actually come true.
I loved how sophisticated everyone looked with cocktails in their hands and now I looked high-class too.
I had only drank in secret before, hiding it from my parents at parties, and now, I felt like a true grown up. The glamour of it all amazed me and the allure of finally being who I knew I always wanted to be was right at my fingertips.
But there was no way I was coming out tonight.
Jason and I had a wonderful night, singing show-tunes and making new friends.
Jason told me that the following night he was going to meet up with a guy named Chris for a date.
Jason met Chris a few weeks before when he was looking for housing.
I was happy for Jason but a little jealous that it seemed so easy for him to get a date.
Considering I had not even come out of the closet at this point, a date seemed out of the question, but I was hoping that some day I would be lucky enough to go on a same-sex date.
I was out of D.C. and living in a city that was dripping with decadence where everyone had the savior faire of an aristocrat.
I thought that I totally fit in; that is, until I returned to my college dorm room that night.
How could I fit in with all of my glamorous new friends if I was stuck in my tiny college dorm room with my crazy drug-dealing roommate?
I figured I would just ride it out until senior year of college, when I would graduate and become an amazing Broadway superstar.
Even though I could not sing, dance or act, I determined a career in the theatre was just what my future held.

After a few short weeks, Jason and I quickly became the hottest things to hit the West Village piano bar circuit since the sheet music for
Hair
became available to the public. Men our fathers age, or older, would buy us drinks by the dozens and Jason and I sang our hearts out for anyone who would listen.
It was a fabulous way to usher in our new lifestyle. However, after weeks of singing show-tunes in piano bars in the West Village with men over twice my age, I had still not come out of the closet, as if at this point, I really needed to.

One night, after a few cocktails, Jason approached me:

“Are you gay now?” he asked.

“Soon,” I replied.

“Well, my friend Greg from school thinks you are cute,” he whispered in my ear, “go over and talk to him.”

From across the room, I began to size Greg up.
He was pretty cute from what I could tell.
He had red hair and a dorky smile and was just about perfect for what I was looking for.
Before I had even come out of the closet, I already had a type: dorks.
I love dorks so much.
They are so cute with their little glasses and stubby little hands and are usually freaks in bed.
They also really come in handy if you need tech support for just about anything.
I looked at Greg from across the bar and gave him a smile.
He winked back at me and I walked over to talk to him.

“Hey,” I said as I put out my hand to shake his, “I’m Mark.”

“Like Mark from
Rent
?” he replied.

This was already the gayest conversation I had ever had up until this point and he had only said four words to me, but we were in a piano bar, so what was I to expect?

“Yes,” I replied, “like Mark from
Rent
.”

“I loved
Rent
,” he said. We looked at each other with blank faces for about twelve seconds.
Was this as far as our conversation was going to go?

“Oh,” he then replied, “I’m Greg”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Greg.”

“Where are you from?” he asked

“D.C.” I said nervously.
“Well…actually, I am from Maryland, like right outside of D.C., but, I think it’s easier to tell people that I am from D.C. because no one has ever heard of where I am really from.
It’s just like two minutes outside of D.C., totally not far, but no one has ever heard of it.”
Had I gone completely retarded?
I was so nervous about my first potential gay hook-up that I was standing there giving him a verbal tour of the D.C. Metropolitan Area. “Where are you from?”

“Michigan, a small town no one has ever heard of,” Greg replied.

“Oh,” I said as I stood there and stared at the floor.
I had no idea what gay guys spoke about upon first meeting, so we just kind of stared at each other. Across the room, a big forty-year old hairy queen was belting out “Some People” and Greg and I shifted our attention to him.

As the queen was reaching the bridge, Greg looked over at me and smiled.
He was adorable.
If I were to hook up with him tonight, I could get some action from a guy and have him fix my computer in the morning.
It was win-win.

“But, not ROOOOOSSSSSEEEEE!” the queen belted.
Everyone cheered as the gayest man on earth finished singing one of the gayest songs on earth.
After the clapping subsided, Greg turned to me:

“I was Tulsa in the Kalamazoo production of
Gypsy
a few years back.”

“Nice,” I replied, “I was the Mayor in the Bethesda, Maryland production of
The Music Man
.”

Then, nothing. Conversation stopped again. Greg and I were both fresh out of the closet and neither one of us knew the proper etiquette of the hook-up.
Apparently, listing off all of the community theatre productions we had done in high school would suffice for now.
A few weeks later, I would come to realize that there is no need for words at all when trying to get a guy to hook-up with you.
Now, things were virginal and needed to be taken slowly.

“So…” I said, “where do you live?”

“Upper East Side,” Greg replied.

“Nice,” I replied.

“Do you want to come check out my place?”

I was not really interested in his place but was interested in him so I agreed to check out his place.
I later learned that “check my place out” is gay code for “let’s get it on.”
As I was leaving the bar with Greg, Jason pulled me aside.

“I knew it!” Jason said.

“What?” I asked.

“I knew you were gay.”

“Jesus Christ Jason,” I replied, “I went to a summer camp for the performing arts where everyone called me Natalie because they thought I looked like Natalie from
The Facts of Life
, and I allowed them to do it.
All the while performing in a production of
Sugarbabies
in nursing homes all across the Catskills.
If that isn’t a fucking fag, then I don’t know what is. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to call a spade a spade.”
Baby’s first gay tangent.
I was making progress.
Jason smiled as Greg and I left the bar, headed for the elusive Upper East Side.

Greg and I got into a cab and went up to his place on the Upper East Side.
Once inside, we made the usual small talk:

“I remember when I was doing
Bye, Bye Birdie
at a dinner theatre in Rockville,” I said as Greg poured me a glass of Royal Vodka into a paper cup.
“I got so nervous when I was on stage doing hurkies, I ended up falling on my ass!”

“That’s hilarious!” Greg said as he handed me an alcohol filled paper cup.
“I once peed myself when I was doing a production of
The Sound of Music
as a child.
It was super embarrassing, but I was only six.”

We both laughed.
I don’t know if we were laughing at the fact that we had both humiliated ourselves in front of hundreds of people or that we were having the most ridiculous conversation two men had ever had but we laughed nonetheless.
As the laughing subsided, Greg leaned in and kissed me thus beginning the most awkward hook-up that has ever taken place.
Two eighteen year old guys who had never hooked up with someone of the same sex before attempting to be sexy.
The result: something that would have been a classic episode of
America’s Funniest Home Videos
.

“I really like him,” I said into the phone the next day.

Jason, who was relieved I had finally done something about my homosexuality proclaimed:
“I am so happy that you
finally
came out of the closet.
I knew it was only a matter of time, but damn did that take forever.”

“I think he may be the one,” I said.

“Mark, you hardly know him.
You just hooked up, see how it goes.”

“I don’t know Jason, I am pretty interested in him,” I replied.
I was acting like a straight up lesbian.
I already had plans of moving in with him and raising his children.

“Just see where it goes, Mark.
Don’t rush anything.
You are just coming out of the closet,” Jason said.
Then suddenly, the topic changed back to drinking, “hey, I know, why don’t we go out tonight?
My father just gave me money for books, we can use it to get wasted tonight.”
Jason decided my coming out was a good reason for us to get hammered together.
Soon it would become tradition that everything from a good grade to a hangnail was reason to get hammered together.