St. Clement's Christmas Eve
With the exception of autumn, there truly is no time of the year that I live more for than the period between Thanksgiving and New Year's. Its such an intense season of emotion and feeling--whether that feeling is joy and happiness or sadness and loneliness.
I think if anyone makes it to an advanced stage of adulthood they will experience this spectrum of emotions during this time of year. Some years you'll be away from family during Christmas and you might be a little down, or you finally get lucky and get to steal a New Year's Eve kiss from someone special.
I unfortunately had the chance to experience all of these emotions on Christmas Eve 1997. At the time I was living around the corner from Oprah (yes, she often said "hello" in her morning runs in our nearby park with her personal trainer) in my posh, yet tiny North Lake Shore Drive address in Chicago's Gold Coast neighborhood. I was young, felt important, and loved my location--but I was single and on a mission to find true love. My Best Friend's Wedding had recently been released on video, and I was up late calling the telephone line. Bored. Horny. Restless. Alone.
I finally ran across a white guy on the phone line who sounded nice enough. Sounded very masculine. And described himself and told me how in-shape he was. He was from Atlanta and recently moved to Chicago. And kept stressing how much he wanted to get with someone that night, that he was also bored.
We had a lengthy conversation. I told him that, while I wasn't a Christian, I had this thing for Midnight Mass. How peaceful it is, and how nice everyone is. I love it how they great you when you enter as though you are part of a fellowship, just like muslims do: peace be unto you my brother/sister. He said that he really enjoyed Christmas Eve mass as well, and weirdly, we agreed to meet at a Catholic church right around the corner from his house. Afterwards, we planned to go back to his place and watch my video of My Best Friend's Wedding.
In those days I was partial to the GAP, so I put on some olive green courduroy pants and a lime flannel shirt that I still own to this day. I took a cab to Chicago's Lincoln Park to Saint Clement Church and met the white guy. From what I remember, he wasn't bad looking. He looked slim and trim. I definitely wanted to converse with him, go back to his place and watch the movie with him.
As an aside, there was a point in my life when I didn't discriminate against white guys on the sex/love tip. A lot has changed since then.
The church was packed. People sang Christmas songs. And the white guy was pleasant. But of course we sat there and we really couldn't talk much. I learned a lesson that day. Don't go on weird dates. You don't meet someone at church if you have plans on going home and fucking them. It just doesn't really work.
Also, don't go on dates where you can't talk. That doesn't work. I can't tell you how many guys have wanted to go to a movie on a first date. NO NO NO! Doesn't work. Because you don't get a feeling for the guy because you can't talk, and you have to pay attention to a flick.
The same thing happened to me and the white boy at Midnight Mass. We had a few chuckles during the mass, when one of the parishoners or something walked around with this smoking urn attached to a swinging chain, and our entire area started coughing uncontrollably.
When mass was over, we walked out of the church and the white boy told me that he was really tired and that we should hook up another time. I was young and didn't pick up on signals then. So I called him a few times after that thinking he really wanted to hook up. He eventually fessed up and told me that I was too fat for him.
Looking back I felt a little like the patron saint of the church where the Midnight Mass was held--Saint Clement, thrown out to sea with an anchor around my neck to drown. But instead of becoming a martyr--I was just pissed. I told him that he could have been upfront that evening. But he said he didn't want to hurt my feelings. What a great job.
I could go on about white guys and black guys and respect, or gay guys in general and their fear of being honest with people they aren't attracted to. I have my theories, but they are for later posts.
The good (bad?) news is that a week later later (New Year's Eve) I met another white guy--JOHN--who would turn into my partner for 2 and 1/2 years.
JOHN's brother got married at St. Clement's that summer.
I think if anyone makes it to an advanced stage of adulthood they will experience this spectrum of emotions during this time of year. Some years you'll be away from family during Christmas and you might be a little down, or you finally get lucky and get to steal a New Year's Eve kiss from someone special.
I unfortunately had the chance to experience all of these emotions on Christmas Eve 1997. At the time I was living around the corner from Oprah (yes, she often said "hello" in her morning runs in our nearby park with her personal trainer) in my posh, yet tiny North Lake Shore Drive address in Chicago's Gold Coast neighborhood. I was young, felt important, and loved my location--but I was single and on a mission to find true love. My Best Friend's Wedding had recently been released on video, and I was up late calling the telephone line. Bored. Horny. Restless. Alone.
I finally ran across a white guy on the phone line who sounded nice enough. Sounded very masculine. And described himself and told me how in-shape he was. He was from Atlanta and recently moved to Chicago. And kept stressing how much he wanted to get with someone that night, that he was also bored.
We had a lengthy conversation. I told him that, while I wasn't a Christian, I had this thing for Midnight Mass. How peaceful it is, and how nice everyone is. I love it how they great you when you enter as though you are part of a fellowship, just like muslims do: peace be unto you my brother/sister. He said that he really enjoyed Christmas Eve mass as well, and weirdly, we agreed to meet at a Catholic church right around the corner from his house. Afterwards, we planned to go back to his place and watch my video of My Best Friend's Wedding.
In those days I was partial to the GAP, so I put on some olive green courduroy pants and a lime flannel shirt that I still own to this day. I took a cab to Chicago's Lincoln Park to Saint Clement Church and met the white guy. From what I remember, he wasn't bad looking. He looked slim and trim. I definitely wanted to converse with him, go back to his place and watch the movie with him.
As an aside, there was a point in my life when I didn't discriminate against white guys on the sex/love tip. A lot has changed since then.
The church was packed. People sang Christmas songs. And the white guy was pleasant. But of course we sat there and we really couldn't talk much. I learned a lesson that day. Don't go on weird dates. You don't meet someone at church if you have plans on going home and fucking them. It just doesn't really work.
Also, don't go on dates where you can't talk. That doesn't work. I can't tell you how many guys have wanted to go to a movie on a first date. NO NO NO! Doesn't work. Because you don't get a feeling for the guy because you can't talk, and you have to pay attention to a flick.
The same thing happened to me and the white boy at Midnight Mass. We had a few chuckles during the mass, when one of the parishoners or something walked around with this smoking urn attached to a swinging chain, and our entire area started coughing uncontrollably.
When mass was over, we walked out of the church and the white boy told me that he was really tired and that we should hook up another time. I was young and didn't pick up on signals then. So I called him a few times after that thinking he really wanted to hook up. He eventually fessed up and told me that I was too fat for him.
Looking back I felt a little like the patron saint of the church where the Midnight Mass was held--Saint Clement, thrown out to sea with an anchor around my neck to drown. But instead of becoming a martyr--I was just pissed. I told him that he could have been upfront that evening. But he said he didn't want to hurt my feelings. What a great job.
I could go on about white guys and black guys and respect, or gay guys in general and their fear of being honest with people they aren't attracted to. I have my theories, but they are for later posts.
The good (bad?) news is that a week later later (New Year's Eve) I met another white guy--JOHN--who would turn into my partner for 2 and 1/2 years.
JOHN's brother got married at St. Clement's that summer.
posted by Bernard Bradshaw at Friday, December 24, 2004
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home