I Don't Want Your Love... Your Revenge, on the Other Hand...

Despite flamboyant tendencies, I like to consider myself on the conservative side of "gay."

I don't know many showtunes (though I know all the lyrics to "Legally Blonde: The Musical." Just because it's about me). Seriously! Bubbly girl who kicks ass and takes names, all with a smile on her face? Thaaaat's me! Also, I've never had 3 relationships in 3 months like many of my peers. But these reasons are why I feel so weird in gay bars.

Everyone's skinnier than me. They have better hair than me. They get more attention from other boys than I do. In turn, I pinpoint their one flaw and judge from across the room. All my friends get a laugh out of it, but I'm still single.

The Boy Scout asked me to Karaoke Night again this summer. I, of course, accepted. Little did I know he was going to show up with 2 cars full of other boy scouts... and a girl boy scout.

DISCLAIMER: I am not making this up. This stuff ACTUALLY happens to me.

I rolled up to the parking lot down the street from the club in my new (used) Toyota Avalon, affectionately named "Wilberta." As I walked down the street in my graphic tee and skin-tight jeans (thank you, Katy Perry), I saw a big group of boy scouts standing outside of a gay bar. The only thing weirder would be if the Scout Master was there. And touching people.

The Boy Scout greeted me, "HEY! COREY!" and gave me a big hug. We did introductions and said "Hi" to the kids I already knew from last year and went inside. Coincidentally, I had just turned 21 and was adorned with a yellow bracelet (ew) which read, "PARTY TIME!" Little did I know that this would be a foreshadowing of the debauchery that was to follow.

Karaoke night was in full swing at the gay bar. When we entered the bar room, there was an extremely skinny homosexual boy dressed completely in black, with a spiky belt and long hair. I grabbed the Boy Scout's hand and said, "Oh, my God, it's Chris Crocker! Should we ask him to leave Britney alone?" The Boy Scout laughed but quickly caught himself and told me to stop being judgmental... Which he knew wouldn't happen, but he still had to say it. The situation only got worse when Chris Crocker's chunky fag hags joined in the fun. While he sang the chorus of a Fall Out Boy song (Of course), they rushed the stage and started booty-dancing. ...What?

The Boy Scout left me for a second to sign up for karaoke. Next thing I knew, I was singing "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga, accompanied by the Boy Scout and his entire troop. It was like that YouTube video where the unattractive frat boys sing "Bad Romance" a capella... We didn't sound as good, but we (read: some of us) were better-looking. The entire bar was singing along and dancing. I'll never forget the one kid dancing on his bar stool. His legs were kicking, he put his hands in the air like he just didn't care, and you could see the music moving through him. I've never seen so many queer boys belting Lady Gaga at one time except for that one time at Providence Pride (which is another story for another blog entry).

Performing is such a rush. Call me an attention whore (and you wouldn't be wrong), but there are few better feelings than the applause of an entire room after you've just poured your heart and soul into a song. On the reverse, I can't help but have a minor panic attack going into any kind of performing/public speaking. It makes me think of that scene from "Citizen Kane" when the private investigator is interviewing Kane's wife and she has that flashback...

She's sitting in front of the fireplace, and she says to her husband, "I couldn't make you see how I felt, Charlie. But I couldn't go through with the singing again. You don't know what it means to know that people are...that a whole audience just doesn't want you." I really felt for her. It's tough to go up on a stage and give it your all, only to have a room full of people scowl and send negativity your way. That scene has always made me tear up. It's hard to not identify with her terror and disappointment, you know? There are harsh critics out there.

As the night went on, the Boy Scout and I continued to pick duets and perform. The songs were then followed by "Eagle Scout shots." Each boy scout who had reached a certain rank had to do a shot. My Boy Scout, however, was not legal and I was. The bartender refused to release it to the Boy Scout, so I took it in his place. All of the boys started to cheer, "YEAH! COREY'S AN HONORARY EAGLE SCOUT NOW!"

"Does that mean I have to sleep in the dirt and tie knots out of rope?" I asked. I got a few head-shakes in response. You can take the boy out of the gay bar, but you can't take the gay bar out of the boy...

Once the night started to wind down, however, we noticed that a set of eyes had been on us the entire time. "He's been staring at us all night," I said, getting possessive once more.

Yeah, but he's also been all over that old, fat guy," the Boy Scout responded. Shocking. Another creep is staring at me? That NEVER happens. The Boy Scout continued to speak, "You know, the Scout Master gave us a challenge tonight."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"He said that whoever got the most numbers at the bar would get to sleep through breakfast tomorrow."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get the creep's number," I told him.

"What?"

"Look, he's been staring at us all night. And I'm gonna look like a loser if you just stare back the whole time. Introduce yourself. It'll be a good story."

"Will you come with me?"

I grabbed his hand. "Absolutely." We walked over to the tall man with a snaggle-tooth, dressed in nothing but a tank top and shorts... at the club. Really, buddy? Show some class. The place might be a dive, but everyone else made an effort! The man introduced himself as "Adam." He was "Twenty-stheven yearsth old." I deciphered his lisp and found out that he was 27. I knew this was about to get good, so I promptly introduced myself. The Boy Scout then found the balls to do the same. Adam put his number into the Boy Scout's phone and we walked away, laughing about what had just transpired.

"You better win this fuckin' contest," I said to him.

"Don't you worry, I have this down. My competition is a bunch of straight guys at a gay bar."

It was then that the "get the fuck out lights," as my friend Sarah calls them, illuminated the entire bar. Last call had long passed and the bar was closed. We made our way out into the warm, summer morning. It was 2 a.m. in the city. There was no humidity. For a New England summer? That was pretty awesome.

The straight boy scouts were outside flirting with a couple of fag hags, while the girl boy scout lit up a joint and passed it around the circle. I had a minor panic attack in my head, because we were outside of the club, under a streetlight, and a cop had just driven by. I wouldn't fare well in jail. I had visions of becoming a prison bitch and holding onto the soap as tight as I possibly could. Knowing myself, I can't stand being dirty... So, once I dropped it, I'd pick it up and find myself victim to a prisoner who would do anything for a little mangina.

I turned to the Boy Scout, who could sense the crazy passing through my head. He came at me without warning and planted a big kiss on my lips. It was at that moment where I felt all the crazy dissipate (which is quite the feat, 'cause I'm a fucking lunatic) and I smiled.

The moment was killed, however, when Girl Boy Scout started cheering, "MAKE OUT AGAIN! MAKE OUT AGAIN! MAKE OUT AGAIN!" When I met her earlier in the night, I knew I didn't like her because to be a girl boy scout, you have to be one of those girls that wants to "make a point" about gender inequality and show all those stupid boys that you can get messy and help old people walk across the street, too. I glared in her general direction, but my dirty look didn't last long. I felt a very forceful SMACK ON MY ASS. The Boy Scout and I turned around to face Adam.

"Oh. Hey, Adam..."

"WHAT'STH GOIN' ON, GUYSTH?" he asked.

"Nothing," I snapped. Behind that "nothing" was a big, "GO THE FUCK AWAY," but I'm a little classier than saying that to someone's face.

That's when the Boy Scout's friend and right-hand man, Rich, spoke up. "We're going to the pizza place on Thayer St. Everyone ready?"

"Oh, I know where that isth!" Adam volunteered.

The Boy Scout looked at me. "Corey, where are you parked?"

I pointed to the left. "I don't know how to get there. Where are you parked? Can I follow you?" I responded. He pointed in the other direction. That's when Adam interjected.

"Oh, Corey, I'm parked over that way! You can follow me there, I'll show you the way!"

The silence was more uncomfortable than an AIDS joke in a room full of promiscuous gay men. The Boy Scout took this opportunity to man up. "Corey, I'll walk you to your car."

Adam had lost the battle, but the war to rape me in a back alley was not yet over. The Boy Scout called back to the others and said, "I'll meet you back here in a couple minutes." He then took me by the hand and the three of us walked toward my car.

"Are you coming with us because you guys need a little 'make-out time?'" Adam asked, snickering.

The Boy Scout came back at him with a simple, "Yeah," and we crossed the street to get in my car, leaving Adam in the dust. The Boy Scout jumped into Wilberta's passenger seat and kissed me with this intense energy I had never felt before. What was probably only two minutes felt like it lasted hours. And it felt good. That's when there was a knock on my driver's side window.

"Hey, make-out queensth! Let'sth go!" Adam snapped in a jealous tone.

After I dropped the Boy Scout off at his car and followed Adam to the pizza place, I found myself alone with him outside. The Boy Scout was nowhere to be found. It was then that Adam took the time we had alone together to tell me about his DRAMATIC FUCKING LIFE (This is the pot calling the kettle black).

Apparently, Adam has a 300-lb. sugar daddy who takes him to the club and buys him lavish gifts. Meanwhile, his fiancee lives an hour away, so Adam is free to do whatever he wants and hook up with whoever he wants. His fiancee also, apparently, knows about his sugar daddy, because the fiancee is going to put diamonds in the skull ring that the sugar daddy bought for him. And, to top it all off, he has a 6 year old child named "COLTON JAMESTH" who lives in "ARIZTHONA."

"Wait, he's your biological child?!" I asked, incredulously.

"Yeah!" Adam cheered excitedly.

I wasn't about to go into the gory details on this one. While Adam rambled about his child's favorite color and the last time he went to visit him, my phone rang. Recognizing the custom ring tone immediately, I picked up my African-American Berry and said, "Hello?" It was the Boy Scout. But Adam wouldn't shut the fuck up. "Adam, hold on. Hello? ADAM, HOLD. ON."

"Are you alive?" the Boy Scout asked, worried about me having followed a drunk driver to the restaurant.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good, we're almost there." Click.

He arrived and we spent the night talking outside of the pizza place. It was nice and peaceful... until the fat girl who we saw at the club sat down on the car across the street. The car in question was parked outside of a Chinese restaurant. Fat Club Girl's ass caused the car's alarm to sound loudly (at 2 o'clock in the morning). The only person who was bothered was the car's owner, who, coincidentally, owned the Chinese restaurant.

"YOU NO SIT ON CAAAHH," he screamed. "YOU NO SIT ON CAAAHH!"

I got a kick out of this and immediately snapped a picture on my African-American Berry. The Boy Scout smirked and rolled his eyes. He was never one to encourage my antics, but he could never deny enjoying them. This process with the fat girl sitting on the car repeated itself two more times. Fool her once, shame on you. Fool her twice, buy her a submarine sandwich from a late-night pizza place.

Either way, Adam didn't appreciate the fact that the attention wasn't on him. He continued to tell us about his upcoming wedding in Puerta Vallarta, but kept emphasizing that "didn't stop him from being able to play." I vomited a little in my mouth. The thought of boning someone with a snaggletooth is not appealing to me in the least.

Eventually, the adrenaline high that everyone experienced from the night's events dwindled and the pizza place closed. As we left and the Manager shut the door, a shitfaced, Asian drag queen appeared out of nowhere, bolted toward the door, and hung onto it for dear life. "No, we're closed!" the Manager shouted. But that didn't stop Drunky. He/She/It grunted while pulling on the door handle. Eventually, the pizza place Manager won the tug of war, shut the door, and locked it. Drunky was very upset at this turn of events, so he/she/it (shit?) ran away, flailing its arms and crying.

I was dumbfounded. Mostly because I couldn't find the reality show cameras OR Ashton Kutcher. But when all the lights went out in the buildings on that street, I knew the night was over. But I was wrong. "Corey, let me walk you to your car," the Boy Scout offered again. I agreed, fearing what Adam might try to do. Adam naturally followed us down the street to my car, but kept his distance. We kissed and hugged good night, which caused more jealousy flare-ups on Adam's face. He kept bragging about his ring. "I told you I'm getting diamonds put in the skull's eyes, right?"

I ignored him. But the Boy Scout decided to appease him (knowing that I was sick of his bullshit). "Yeah, Adam. Call ya tomorrow! See ya!" With that Adam got in his car and drove away. The Boy Scout wasn't my boyfriend, but he was acting like a gentleman. And to be treated well in that moment was enough for me. He started to walk down the street toward his car. I rolled down my window. "Don't you want a ride?"

"Oh... Yeah!"

Holding my right hand while I drove with my left, the Boy Scout and I made our way down the street. We pulled into the parking lot, where we found 3 boy scouts peeing in the bushes.

Not the romantic ending I was expecting.

I followed the Boy Scout and his friends back to the highway. And through the windows, I could hear, "BYE, COREY," as I pulled on to the highway. It was kind of like that moment in "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" where the kids feel "infinite," only way cooler.