Adult Sleepovers

First off...I just want to wish all of my readers a very happy Pride month! As you're reading this I am in the middle of hosting a bunch of events all over Boston for Gay Pride and I am so happy to announce that for a second year in a row all of the money that I make from these gigs are going to The Trevor Project. For those of you who don't know The Trevor Project is an American non-profit organization founded in 1998 and the leading national organization focused on suicide prevention efforts among lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning and other queer youth. It is honestly an amazing organization that gives kids who think there is nowhere to go a place to feel safe and get help and deal with the inevitable struggles that come with being seen as "different".  Please believe me when I say that I'm not bragging. I think it's just important sometimes to see past all the #itsglitterbitch shit you see on social media...don't get me wrong...I will self promote the shit out of anything I do...because let's be honest...it's kind of fun ;) 

as for everyone who has asked me about where they can buy #itsglitterbitch shirts...it's really all down to how quickly I can make those damn Vietnamese kids in my basement do iron-ons...stay tuned.

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I've never been good with sleepovers. I say "sleepovers" and not "one night stands" because I'm going way back to when I was a child and that would just be creepy. To start, Papa Glitter who was a cop at them time never trusted other kid's parents. I don't know what type of trouble suburban middle class parents in Boston did to cause my father such doubt that I wouldn't survive a sleepover...it must have been some pretty bad shit. 

The other part of this problem stems from my mother. The woman, god bless her, was OBSESSED with me taking showers. Trust me, it wasn't because I was always sweaty from sports I played, I think it's because I had this amazing super power as a child to make a TOTAL FUCKING MESS out of anything I ate. Seriously, she would find tomato sauce behind my ears when we didn't have pasta for days...it was an extremely unique gift. 

So you can imagine the surprise of anyone that my father prescreened to actually allow me to sleepover to have this totally socially awkward future homo sitting at your kitchen table eating dinner who says "That was a lovely meal Mrs. Jake's Mom...can I please take a shower?" Its a wonder I had any friends. 

The few times I did make it past dinner I had fun times including seeing my best friends mom naked because she didn't know I was in her room trying on her shoes, sleepwalking into my friends closet thinking it was a bathroom...and the time I went to my best friend's house and ordered $1,500 worth of the Spice Channel in one weekend and then watching his very strict baptist parents beat him with a belt. 

Needless to say this didn't translate well into my twenties. For one thing...I'm a prude. While there is a huge backlash of "slut shamming" that goes one with guys who sleep with anything with a pulse...there is the very same amount of shame that goes along with being labeled a "c**k tease". People don't even talk to you because they know you aren't going to go home with them. I'm not sure when that became a bad thing but whatever...I don't judge people. 

The other reason I don't like one night stands is because...I'm selfish. I like MY BED with MY SHEETS and MY PILLOWS and MY STUFFED ANIMALS I don't operate well in foreign territory...I'm a one man gay French army. 

One night I was at a bar on a very cold January night. I was in town and looking VERY glitter-eque. I'm having a great time and I'm talking to this guy and you know what...I went home with him.

 We got into a cab and I was drunk enough to not realize where I was going. I thought he said he lived in Savin Hill but the amount of time it took us to get wherever he was taking me felt like I might be going to the Seven Hills of Rome. We get to his place and I could not for the life of me figure out where I was...but that wasn't necessarily my first priority. I didn't want to sleep over. I think I was more happy I didn't have to get my own cab and be cold. Whatever. It happened. 

The next morning I woke up very hungover and very guilty and very...alone. I mean if you take someone home and they leave in the middle of the night that's one thing but if you go home with someone and THEY leave...you must have done something VERY WRONG.

oh god. what happened?! Did I start talking about weddings again? Did I tell him how much I thought he looked like one of the Backstreet Boys? Did I do the single ladies dance for him!? 

Endless thoughts of horrible scenarios raced through my brain. I had to get out of there. And then...I looked out the window. It was a blizzard.

I don't mean...a few inches of snow quickly falling to the ground...I mean that the Governor shut the fucking roads down. 

I looked around dazed and confused and finally realized I was in his room and needed to leave. This was some MISSION IMPOSSIBLE SHIT...I was a stealth ninja with one object...don't wake anyone up! 

Oh, did I mention that there was no power in the house so my phone was damn near dead? Yea...forgot that.  I pulled a very glitter moved and faceplanted in a hall way to a strange voice...it was a woman. 

"HELLO!?"

"Ummm...Hello!"

What I thought was going to be a roommate emerging from her room and oh yes...it was his mom. 

If you're wondering how drunk I was the night before, not only did I not know where I was...I kind of forgot his name. 

"What are you doing in my house!?"

"Oh...ummm I'm a friend of..."

FUUUUUCKKK. Do I just pick a generic homo name? Matt, Mike, Ryan?! What if that's not his name?! What if this woman thinks I'm a burglar...with glitter smeared all over his face...and jeggings. What if she shoots me in self defense?! 

What is my obituary going to read?! MAN DIES IN A SHIRT THAT WAS TOO SMALL FOR HIM. NO! It wasn't too small for me! I just did the cabbage soup diet! It was a large and how was I supposed Forever 21 mens shirts ran small...wait...dial it back. 

"Are you a friend of Daniels?"

"DANIEL! YES!! YES. I. AM" 

"Oh lovely!! I'm his mom! How do you know Daniel?!"

Oh shit. Here we go.

"We umm.we. work together" 

"Daniel doesn't have a job"

winner

"No I meant...from sports!"

"Daniel doesn't play sports?"

"Haha no...sorry...I work in sports...that's how I know him"

"What?"

"Your house is wonderful! Did you decorate yourself?!"

"I DID!! I'm very into decoupage!"

Your son might be too...I don't remember...I also don't know what decoupage means 

"Well this was fun! I have to get going now"

"What do you mean? You can't leave...the roads are shut down"

"Oh...I'll just walk home...it's not that bad out"

Now I don't want to confuse anyone that doesn't know where I'm talking about so just think of the most INCONVENIENT TOWN that could ever be imagined. No public transport, no highway, no escape...that's where I was. No wonder I didn't know where I was...I've never been there before! 

"Is umm...Daniel? home?" 
"No I sent him out to check on his grandmother this morning. He must be stuck over there."

this is magical

"Well, I'll just call my dad and have him come get me. Or one of his cop friends...or one his CIA friends with a helicopter...I'll just be a minute"

I then had the MEMORABLE task of calling my father and asking him to PICK ME UP FROM A ONE NIGHT STANDS HOUSE.

"Dad its me...I know I didn't come home...I'm sorry I didn't text you...I know...I know...No but i'm stuck over his house...my friend Daniel...yes I do have a friend named Daniel, can you come get me?...yes...yes...ok I will...love you too. bye"

"What did he say?"

"I'm stuck here until it stops snowing"

"Oh how fun!! What should we do?!" This woman was insane and awfully trustworthy of someone who just magically appeared in her house.

"Well...there's no power/heat/or transportation I'll guess we'll party like it's 1799!" - that...was a joke ps. This bitch lit up light a christmas tree. 

"Oh my goodness what a great idea!! We'll light candles and pretend it's 1799!! We'll do all kinds of things that the colonial people did!! This will be so much fun! 

sounds like a blast!! but if this is 1799...you don't get to vote on what the fuck we do and the chances of me getting stoned by villagers is pretty good considering again...i'm wearing jeggings.

For the next FOUR HOURS I talked with this kid's mom about her terrible divorce...the struggles of raising a gay son...her fucking medical problems and her dreams of being a Pan-Am flight attendant in the 70's. Oh yes...it was a hoot!

My father called me to tell me that while the roads were open but he couldn't come get me right away because he had other things to do. SO DID I DAD THAT'S WHY I DIDN'T NEED TO BE SPENDING MY DAY WITH CRAZY PANTS!!

Daniel arrived at the door a few minutes later looking confused...as one would

"Hey...I thought you might have left"
"I did too...roads are closed...been hanging out with your mom"
"Ummm cool? My grandmother sent over some food...you're welcome to have some?"
"Thanks.You think after I can take a shower?"
"What?"
"Don't worry about it"
"Oo"

Sooooo wedding's set for next fall. Save the dates to follow. 

M-O-U-R-Gay

Apologies that I didn't post last week. I was going to say it's because I got a new job and I was super busy but the reality is...I just discovered this show on Netflix called 30 Rock and well...I'm kind of obsessed. Anywho...

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I think it's safe to say that anyone who is reading this realizes that my goals are plain and simple. I want to be rich and I want to be famous. Regardless of what you think about my plan or style of getting these things, let me just give you a quick background.

I've always been rich. I don't mean that I'm heir to some wayward Doherty Irish Potato Famine fortune that traveled the Atlantic, I'm saying I've been a hustler since a young age. My bad, I realize many of my readers are gay. I'm not a hustler in that sense...anymore. I don't sell my body or services for money.  Think less Bel Ami or more Jay-Z. Being a hustler means you work very hard every single day and make money wherever and whenever you can.

Not so much...

Slightly better

This all goes back to my days with Kay. Kay was...well...I'm not really sure how to explain this...Kay was a Chinese merchant whose establishment in downtown Manhattan  was the proprietor of luxury name brand goods at discount prices. Translated: The bitch sold fake bags on Canal Street. When I happened upon there in the summer of 2002, I was instantly mesmerized by the money they made and the business they had. I couldn't let my father know what was going on because well...he was a cop and he would arrest me so I had to set up a small side business.

PRADAH, GUCHI, LUEEE VEETON?

It went GANGBUSTERS!! I'm not kidding. You'd think someone would be suspect of some random homo wearing sunless tanner and purple contacts because he thought he was Naomi Campbell for a brief period of time selling fake handbags out of the trunk of his Buick Century...but oddly they didn't. They probably thought I had enough problems with my identity to worry about my illegal activities...whatever.

But where did the being famous thing come from?

Many of you may or may know that when I was 10, my parents brought me and my sister to Lake Buena Vista Florida to audition for the second round of the Mickey Mouse Club. Many of your favorite stars like Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears, and that dude from Notebook all got started on the Mickey Mouse Club. As for the story of the overweight gay pre-teen and his anorexic sister who tried to impress the producers with their duet of the Boy Is Mine while wearing matching bucket hats?? They...didn't make the cut.

You need to give it up. I've had about enough... 

Rejection is part of the business and while my foray into the entertainment industry took some more twists and turns... There was the off off off Broadway play (when I say off Broadway...I mean Massachusetts). There was the reality tv show...oh that was a hoot. This was pre-Hilton/Kardashian reality tv so it was less Real World and more...well to be honest I don't know what the fuck it was. All I know is that it filmed in this creepy building with a prop desk, fake phones, and neon sign...it could have been a porn set...but then I remembered what I looked like at 18 when I did it and I realize it was NOT porn.

Girlfriend loves her fake tan...just sayin

So there was that...and then there was the actual adult film stint later on in life...but I'll save that for another blog.

I never knew that my career would lead me back to the Mouse. I say The Mouse because you and I both know what would happen if I used the actual name of the company. You think the Beygency is real? Try bad mouthing The Mouse...my family would be in danger.

The Mouse called me back to work for their entertainment division hosting various events, some radio/tv work, looks like tons of fun and a great paycheck! What could possibly go wrong?!

Ok let's get real...everybody loves The Mouse. They have to. It's ingrained into our minds as young children that being a child = loving the mouse. I'm no different! I love the mouse! I wanted to be fucking Mousekateer...I LOVE THE MOUSE.

See what happened? People get so crazy about the Mouse that they can't process it. To say you have to drink the kool-aid is a gross understatement. You have to inject that shit. Want to work for them? It's simple!! Just be the following: Happy, Thin, White, Toothy, Tatooless, Pierceless and Straight...The Other 7 Dwarfs.

I know what you're thinking...Glitter how did you possibly get a job with them? You aren't thin! I know I know but trust me, lighting and angles can fool even insane children.

The Mouse had a very military-like operation in that Don't Ask Don't Tell was super enforced. I didn't have to not be gay...I just couldn't be gay. EASY PEEZY!

Speaking of military. The training is the most intense thing I have ever done. First off, you cannot bring your phone for your trip to Mouse House. Why can't you have your phone? What don't they want me calling home for? You get on a chartered flight and zip to Orlando. EVERYONE ON THE PLANE IS SMILING. I look around at all the other shiny happy people and think...oh fuck.

Here's the other thing that I don't think the Mouse understands...every dude on the flight...was gay. Seriously, maybe one or two wayward bi guys but for the most part it looked like a flight to church camp...and we all know what happens at church camp.

You arrive to Mouse House on a bus...again...no phone...no way of asking for help...nowhere to hide.

Now, I've been to Mouse House a billion times and have stayed at every hotel. So, I was a little confused as to why my accommodations were more...CONCENTRATED CAMPing style with 8 rows of bunk beds but whatever...it was an experience.

The next morning we were to report to ROLL CALL at 6am before the House opened. If you want to be scared out of your mind...go to a theme park when it's empty.

and nobody can hear you scream

Roll call was then followed by audition rounds. Wait? I thought I already had the job? Why do I need to audition? Oh because you might have gotten A job and you will be held to your contact no matter what...but it might be THE job you actually wanted. Fun right? You sign a contract and THEN find out what you'll be doing.

Audition rounds were very American Idol-y. We all took turns saying the same crazy lines, performing all the moves to THE HOEDOWN THROWDOWN, singing various Mouse songs and practicing our Oprah hugs...for those of you who don't know...that's when a little kid wants to hug you because they think because you look like someone on their favorite show that they hug you but you have protect yourself from a lawsuit you throw your hands up to block them...

I could write a paper on how hug deprived kids are today as evident by their insane need to hug strangers...but I'm writing this instead.

The final part is held in this giant sound stage. It's just...unsavory. You're all there broken out by region and you go thru this final "impress the judges" process and then at the end of it they line everyone up and announce your name. You feign interest with your new "friends" and promise "no matter what, we will be friends FOREVER" while secretly hoping the bitch falls off the stage and can't move onto the next round...at least I thought that.

Finally, I heard my name. I didn't think I'd be happy because again I was very jaded about this whole process, but I was! Here I was 10 years after those bastards turned their backs on me and now I'm the guy they picked!! I did it!! I MADE IT!! I....fell flat on my fucking face in front of everyone.

It was a foretelling of what was to come. Working for The Mouse was an amazing experience and one I will never forget. I actually did meet some really great people and had some great times. I would recommend it anyone highly...so long as you're Happy, Thin, White, Toothy, Tatooless, Pierceless and Straight.

PS- once they send The Mouse after me to kill me and hide my body...tell my family I love them