"Disturbing, But Possible."

That’s what I said to Mario at his suggestion that an underage twink stripper might spontaneously pop out of the pecan pie resting in front of Matty at the end of his birthday dinner. It is Thursday night at The Park and of course we are all back at the scene of the crime. Mario is excited about the impending arrival of his baby but Brian’s one track mind is on real estate. I dragged Erik over to witness Matty and his sophisticated and fashion-forward friends celebrate his birthday. This isn’t Gay 101. It’s Gay 304. After all, where else will he see a Crumbs cupcake cut ten ways?

I have been trying to arrange a meeting between Erik and Matty so that his gay education can be furthered. When I arrived, Jordy was standing near the front and it was déjà vu all over again. He loved that I described our last encounter at the club as “two ships passing in the night,” as if I invented that dull cliché. He was meeting a straight girl from high school and her boyfriend who were both visiting from out of town. As soon as he spotted them bursting through the door, I waved and backed away slowly like Ann-Margret in “Bye-Bye, Birdie.”

Alone, I hunted through the club for Matty and a few minutes after Erik arrived, he texted me that they were finishing up dinner in the restaurant downstairs near the front. The Park is a huge complex and, as I explained to Erik, exactly the kind of restaurant I wanted to open when I was a kid. He asked me why I didn’t do something similar now and I shot it down instantly. “A restaurant is a financial sinkhole.” There are reasons why you dream about things when you are a kid and don’t make them a reality when you grow up.

After the crumbs from Crumbs were cleared away, we all wandered upstairs. Shay was there and as lovely as always. She keeps trying to get me to add her Facebook Fan Page, probably because she knows I am an outlet mall shopper who needs some ShayStyle, but I am not what I would call a joiner. Matty’s boyfriend Andrew was properly suited to the occasion while I was the bad friend who didn’t wear Polo on his birthday. Matty was justifiably incredulous but in typical Matty fashion, forgot the upset before the possibility of concern turning to a wrinkle could take place.

“Matty should get a job working in Protocol at the White House,” I suggested to his friend Clay as we watched Matty work the crowd like a campaigner, every hand shaken, every baby kissed. Clay was very cute and slender in a v-neck tee under a slouchy wafer of a cardigan. He insisted he has known Matty for years but I was suspicious because we had never met. I like to think I know all of Matty’s friends, even though I say all the time that Matty is the only gay you need to know in Manhattan because he knows everyone else. But still, I should know all the gays at his intimate birthday dinner.

To show Clay my attraction to him, I threatened to throw him down a flight of stairs. And it was said not just once in an amusing way either. More than once so he got the point that I really might actually send him sailing if given the opportunity. Moments early, I had followed Clay and Matty further into the bar, where we engaged in conversation with two men, Ian and Kelly (“Like the color!” I offered, much to Kelly's visible annoyance). Kelly was a fine conversationalist, though with the noise, I couldn’t hear a word he said. And his need to take everything I said literally (for instance, “I work here. I’m a busboy downstairs.”) all had a reasonably unhappy ending.

But the real failure to communicate was with Ian who did not understand that I was joking about owning a Jitterbug cell phone and assaulted me with a barrage of information about his Droid phone that had all the subtly of a Scientologist trying to sell you Herbalife and Amway at the same time. I was trapped and Clay saw that I was trapped, and so in a move that I would have made myself if the roles had been reversed suddenly declared that he had to pee and walked away. Walked away! And this is why I threatened to throw him down a flight of stairs. Because merely pushing him just wouldn’t have gotten the message across.

Come to think of it, I am pretty sure I met Clay before at Therapy quite some time ago. But that was under a staircase on the ground floor, so he was safe from my threat of violence. I suppose it was doubly upsetting because I would have done the same thing. It was just so unpleasant to see the behavior in someone so otherwise attractive. Although in comparison, I love Conor and he doesn’t have a flaw I haven’t been willing to turn a blind eye to.

Conor was with his boyfriend Ryan, who I branded “Dimples” after Conor made such a fuss about his face. The dimples were cute but he had an ass that would not quit, even after the whistle had blown. “Dimples” seemed nice enough although I am fairly certain he was fucking with me when he said he quit his job so he could concentrate full-time on his tan before summer got here. The more I talked to him, the less certain I was that he was joking, but again, the ass, the body, it was all tight like hospital corners, so if his tan needs that kind of attention, well then I guess that’s just fine.

Conor’s friend Andrew was also there. “Will you remember me this time?” he huffed, although I didn’t remember forgetting him before (although he might be easier to remember if he hadn't blocked me on Facebook, no doubt because of my generous links to his profile in my blog). I whispered sweet nothings to him about him being impossible to forget because he is so handsome. And like all attractive men who only care about the massive, nuclear levels of attention they need to receive, he melted like a Soviet reactor.

I love Conor and Andrew but I had to explain to Erik that they are on the dark side of the force. “Conor is not on the dark side,” Matty said, as he sipped complimentary birthday champagne in the VIP lounge area he staked out as his own nearby. “If he isn’t on the dark side yet,” I told him, “He is at least Anakin just before he becomes Darth Vader.” I say all this with the full understanding that I am on the dark side of the force too.

After all, I am not shy about pointing out the shortcomings and foibles of others. I make the most callous observations of friends and strangers without regard to feelings or fallout. I even sent Conor on a mission tonight to get more information on the pretty guy I have seen the last two times I was at the bar. The one I suggested looked like he was made out of cream cheese just at the expiration date. Conor recognized him from his gym. “His name is Daniel and he is from the UK.” Not quite enough for me to find him on Facebook. It makes me long for the days of Friendster, when that would have been everything I needed to unveil his life story.

I live in the world of the disturbing but possible. That is the bread and butter of the gay male existence. Earlier Matty and Mario had been talking about a mutual friend who claimed to have calmed down but was living as wild and on the edge as ever. That’s who we are. I know it’s who I am. Believing in my head one thing, and living a life completely contrary to that vision. I am sure Erik learned a lot about what it means to be a gay man in New York City tonight, but perhaps the lessons learned weren’t the best we could offer as a community. The problem is that I am just not a very good teacher because the only lesson I teach is how to be me. And that is a terrible lesson.