I Was Never, Ever Good Enough For Him Part 1

I have officially reached my goal of losing 100 pounds, come out to my parents, given my first blow job and tonight I made my first dollar, 50 of them, actually as a comedian. And it is Tuesday, and the previous events have happened in the previous 10 days. It is December 16, 2003, I think, but I am drunk. It's the first time I've over-drank in 13 months,unless you count last Friday when I went to a hotel with a deaf Abercrombie and Fitch model visiting from San Diego and gave toothy head at the Holiday Inn Express Downtown Sacramento.

I learned quickly what Sign Language is for "Ouch!" It actually involves a smack on the head, and a drooly vocal rendition of the word, um, "OUCH!"

I am pulling into a parking space in San Francisco's hilly, flaming Castro District after being the MC at the San Jose Improv's private corporate Christmas party for Starbucks. On the car ride up to San Francisco, from San Jose, which was a drive from Sacramento earlier, I think about my set. I opened the show by asking a woman in the front row if she knew what it meant that I have a size 14 shoe. She smiled and looked away, then I put my crotch in her face and said it meant that I was gay. It was a weird bit, I admit. But I got paid. And that money is going to buy my drinks at this bar called Badlands. And I am going to look hot in this pink shirt, newly thin, and newly out. I hear music in the club as I show my ID.

Outrageous
(My sexy body)

Outrageous
(We On A World Tour)

I am so this song. I buy two drinks and scan the room over and over and over. Is anyone looking at me? I'm a working comic. Does anyone recognize me? Does my ass look hot? Can they all tell I'm a virgin, a 25 year old anal sex virgin? OMG. Is this the Megamix?

Tock, Tock, Toxic.

Oh, It is.

Vodka Soda. Vodka Cranberry. Sprite and Rum. $3 left. 1 Beer.
Done.
Dance.

My lon-li-ness is kill-in me.

I'm grabbed from behind. This could be hot. . Eh, not really my type. Big nose. Beady eyes. White. Skinny. Jew-ish. Not Jewish. Jew-ish. He asks me my name. "Steve," I say. Huh? Did I just lie about my name?

His breath smells like Blue Cheese Dressing. It's after midnight, so that's just unacceptable. What is he a Gremlin? But who am I to be picky? He'll be my second ever out-gay hook-up. You gotta build up!