THE HOMEOWNER

Thursday, November 06, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

The Homeowner: Weekend in flames

By Mike Prevatt

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I would rather have been in Las Vegas than California the last two weekends.

A month ago, I bought a new car and decided, hey, now that I have this thing, I should use it, take it out of the ol' suburbs, test the stereo, etc. So, I thought of who I could visit, and with no less than four pals now living in or around San Francisco, I decided to venture on up. I had really wanted to go up the next weekend--I hear the Castro district is crazy on Halloween night--but I had never done the ever-popular West Hollywood Halloween party back home. Besides, all my buds in the Bay Area were actually available the weekend before anyway. So, up I went.

Well, I ran into trouble as soon as I got there, ranging from horrendous traffic to waiting forever for a running-way-late buddy. But I got over this. I knew homeboy--who I was going to stay with--would go clubbing/barhopping with me after dinner, which I had not done anywhere in awhile.

I also knew there would have to be some negotiating. I wanted to go to 1015 Folsom, San Francisco's most popular club, because I had never been there, and one of my favorite DJs, LTJ Bukem, was going to play that night. My pal just wanted to go where there were other homeowners, because when he saw the types of people waiting outside the club--straight, clubby, trendy--he cringed and made us walk right past. Whatever, that wasn't a huge deal; I just wanted to dance and have a drink at this point. Luckily, End Up is just three blocks down.

End Up is the best bar/club I've ever been to in San Francisco, an intimate, no-frills venue that attracts a down-to-earth-but-still-good-looking crowd, and usually books great DJs who don't play circuit party meth house. And on that night it was throwing its weekly "Fag Fridays" party, an institution in the Bay Area. No complaints here--especially with the bevy of hotties inside.

One cutie in particular passed us a couple of times, and my pal grabs me and says, "Let's follow him!" In no time, he was introducing me to this sexy-voiced cutie, shortly after he initiated the conversation and shortly before they started making out. And there I was, the third wheel, standing there as if I was waiting for them to finish.

I thought, fuck this, and went off, danced by myself for an hour or two, still peaking on my Red Bull and Ketel One, and realizing my standards were gradually being lowered. Just as I found someone I wanted to try to talk to, my pal and Sexy Voice Guy come up to me: We're ready to go, they say.

So we leave, and I crawl into the back seat of my new car, goofy drunk, uncharacteristically brazen and slightly begrudged. So, why haven't you invited him home, I slur to my pal, probably embarrassing both of them. I chuckle, enjoying my asshole moment.

Well, my pal got the last laugh the next night, the most miserable of the weekend. After we have a couple of dramatic moments, I'm forced to reprise my role as the loner club wallflower, and start chugging away. After just two drinks, my lightweight ass is bombed, and some troll-in-the-making comes up to me, looks at my friends making out, and says--get this--he, too, is a third wheel tonight, so maybe we were destined to meet. My pal sees this, stages an intervention and gets us all out of the club. We go home, and while they fuck in one room, I pace in another, as drunk as I've ever been, and feeling down.

I saw another friend the next day, had a better time and drove home on Monday, only to find that a brush fire was raging three miles from home. We dealt with evacuation prep for a few days, and the weekend couldn't come soon enough. Come Friday, our neighborhood was spared, but my Halloween wasn't. As irony would have it, that rain we so needed to combat all the SoCal fires was most intense during the WeHo street party. I cut my losses at 9 p.m., drove home soaked and melancholy. This more or less set the tone of another lame weekend.

My tour of duty here in the Golden State continues in a few weeks, when I venture down to San Diego for a wedding. I've never done the Hillcrest District thing, but I'll be by myself, which means I'll probably have another weekend feeling sorry for myself. At least I won't be anyone's third wheel.

The Homeowner appears biweekly. Send your comments, questions and nude pics (especially if you look like Elias McConnell) to oughtabeinporn@yahoo.com.