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When I started this blog I promised that I would always keep it real, even when it hurt, even when it's embarrassing, even when it doesn't show me in the best light. Because at the end of the day it is my imperfections and humanity that have endeared me to you all. Hopefully I'm right.
-Adam
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It's quite ironic that on Labor Day I must make this announcement but, I quit. What am I quitting you ask? Well I'm definitely not quitting the blog, so don't worry about that. This blog is one of the most beautifully rewarding and consistent things of my life. If I could turn my blog into a person and marry it I would. My blog is my baby and although I've neglected him at times, not writing as much as I should I will never give him up. I'm quitting some other things in my life that have taken me off course as of late. Things that have taken my mind away from what's really important.
I'm depressed, more yesterday than today. I've been rolling around, sweating in my boxer briefs, alone and lonely in my hot ass studio apartment for the past 36 hours. I'm also sick, I've caught one of my annual end-of-summer-but-everyone-is-still-pumping-the-AC-like-it's-90-degrees-outside-colds. That's why my AC isn't on and I've decided to sweat this thing out. It's working.
Oh Jesus, where do I start. Well, the party that I and my partners had been planning. The one we've poured our everything into, the one that I've been plugging to the point of annoyance, you know the whole "No Shade" thing, well, it basically failed. To say that no one came would be over dramatic but it certainly was much less successful than we expected it to be. In some ways I used my wildly successful 25th birthday party as a meter of success to compare this party to. Although I didn't expect it to do as well, especially since that party was free I also didn't expect it to as badly as it did and for good reason. When I was doubtful about it so many people told me that they'd come, they'd definitely support, that it was a great idea. My partners each got the same response. These sort of prompts are what encouraged us to even endeavor in a monthly party in the first place. The last few days before last Friday night, I'd all but stopped worrying to the point of utter and complete confidence. Everything's gonna be okay, we've been promoting like crazy, going out on a marathon of club let outs, passing out flyers and talking to people every day for the past eight days, we have an email list of 1,800+ people, having people randomly hit me up online on BGC and A4A to inquire about the party and to say that they'd definitely be there. I thought 'Oh ok, we got this in the bag'.
The night of the party I looked great in my all white. It was the Friday before Labor Day so I decided to wear all of my white before I couldn't wear it anymore. I was so excited. It was only 11pm and the party had just started. Of course no one was there and why would they be. The NYC kids don't party until like 1-130a, I don't normally get out until 2-230a myself. At around 1130p I took a quick cab trip with some friends up to the Village (Greenwich Village), leaving the others behind to get rid of the last of the flyers we had left. I ran into some people I knew in the Village who told me that they'd definitely be at the party a little later, as most people do. They chill in the Village early and go out to party later. We got back around 1230p and I expected to hear good news, that it'd filled up a little and that there was at least a line. Alas no. People actually came in, saw the emptiness and left. After 1a came along and there was no significant change in the crowd or the lack thereof I knew in my heart that it was a wrap but I tried to remain hopeful and keep on what Jill Scott would call "the strong face" for the guests we already had. No need for them to see me crack under the pressure, no need for me to be any less charming and warm to them due to what I was going through. So I slipped up to the VIP section and sipped on some Moet from the bottle my friend bought, in an attempt to calm my nerves. The next day another friend told me that me and my partners attempts to remain cool in spite of what was going on we're pretty thinly veiled. It wasn't hard at all to tell that we were folding under the pressure and cracking at the seams. I was so embarrassed that I could have dropped dead right then. It even crossed my mind to just run away, to sneak out the front door and never come back, but I could never leave my friends that way. It was unbelievable. We were all so shocked. We didn't expect this and for good reason. So many of our friends, acquaintances and people we just flat out didn't know said they'd be there and they weren't, what happened? Even one of the people I ran into in the Village never showed up. I found out later that some of those people who came by texted their friends, who texted their friends, who texted their friends and from then on it was a wrap.
At the end of the night, due to the grace and tender mercy of our faithful God who I'd been whispering prayers to all night, we didn't lose much money and basically broke even. Thank you Jesus. When I left Mocca Lounge that night, alone in the drenching rain, in all white with no umbrella, I stood under a store awning frozen in my own confusion, derision and discontent wanting to melt away down the storm drain along with the rain, wondering what happened, how I got here and what I was gonna do next. It was 4am and there I was stuck outside, all dressed up with no place to go, wanting to go home but paralyzed by the rain. Just then I thought 'Fuck it' and ran through the rain to my train station which was a block away. On the ride all the way back up to Harlem I slept in an effort to stop my mind that was racing at a million miles an hour, turning round and round like a centrifuge. It also didn't help that I was sick, my throat sore and my head aching. I just wanted to go to bed... forever. I rose from the train station at my stop to discover that the rain had gotten even worse, to deluge, monsoon-like proportions, paralyzing me once again. Standing outside again for another half hour in my all white, wanting to run to the refuge of my bed more than life itself at that point, I felt foolish once again. I didn't want to be seen. I just wanted to lock myself in the house and get away from it all. Lord why can't I just get home.
The next day I woke up to a Blackberry flooded with emails and text messages saying sorry for not being able to make it to your party. Too little, too motherfuckin; late y'all. The damage was already done. What's so fucked up is how a few hours before the party a skirmish between me and one of my partners could have led to us canceling the party. God, why didn't we just cancel the party? All that day I tried to figure out how to spin this, what PR trick could I use to remedy this situation, to turn this shit to shine. I know the word had obviously gotten out and that the first thing people are gonna do is look to the blog just to see what I'm gonna say. Then once again I thought 'Fuck it' I'm gonna handle this like I been handling everything else. This blog was built on honesty so I figured that if people are gonna hear it then they'd hear it from me. The craziest thing about it all was that we did everything right. We couldn't even take solace in the notion that we did something wrong and that there was something to correct for next time. No there wasn't, people just didn't show up for whatever reason.
Upon further thought and reflection that day I decided that party promotion was way too risky a business to continue to invest my money and time into. As much as I like people and getting to know people I'm still very much a loner as most truly creative people are. All of my writing and designing I do in solitude. I don't trust or depend on people very easily. I will stay in the crib by myself, broke as a joke before I ask anyone for anything. I'm a Leo and I'm extremely proud and i like feeling secure. I don't handle embarrassment or vulnerability well. I should have known that any endeavor that was so volatile and involved so much dependence on other people's involvement and attendance was not for me. Especially since my blog, my business and my book have suffered as a result of it. While there's nothing wrong with planning or throwing parties I was in it for all the wrong reasons.
"My (ex)boyfriend and I were talking the other day and we were just reviewing all of the things that have been happening to me lately, increased readership of the blog, my web design business starting to become more popular, and many other developments that I'm not even at liberty to discuss yet. He ended things quite soberly with the phrase "...don't get caught up, baby".
...It seems like everybody nowadays is doing whatever they can to attain some type of plastic, pseudo-celebrity status., in New York especially. NYC is the home or should I say breeding ground of the black, gay, mini-celebrity.
Being that my (ex) boyfriend and I are both Leos it is certainly within our nature to believe our own press. We also love attention. But I mean, who doesn't? Even the most laid back of people want attention from somebody, right?"
-Adam Benjamin Irby (me)
from my blog post "If I Ever Become An Attention Whore... Slap Me... Please..."
written June 14th, 2007
Being a black gay socialite went against everything I believed in coming into all of this. More embarrassing than the scant turnout and the backlash that comes with having a party fail is knowing that I went against my word. Not just shit I said in passing but what I had written in this blog (in this particular blog post) almost fourteen months ago and that I'd changed. Pseudo-notoriety had changed me. The fucked up thing about notoriety in terms of what I do is that it inhibited me from telling stories the way I once did. Most of you who had been reading my stuff for an extended period of time started reading it because it was a breath of fresh air to hear from someone being real and saying what he truly felt no matter what, these are the things you all have said to me. But the more notable you become the more you have to be careful not to offend anyone. Although I tried my best to always remain modest, humble, and just plain nice I began to believe my own press. I got caught up. So just in case you didn't get it. The party's over, at least for me anyway.
Then there's the other thing that's been plaguing me, Pubby. I'm just as tired of typing that name as you are of reading it at this point. I have not been fully honest about the Pubby situation. It's not that I lied. I'm not a liar, I'm just a big omitter. So yes we broke up, we broke up but we'd still see each other from time to time. Each time we saw each other it would feel so good and so right to me that it would incite feelings of reconciliation in me although he was already with someone else. His sweet utterances of "I love you." "I miss you." "You know you're still my baby." "You know it's still yours baby." would deceive me every time. He'd spend time with me and when he'd walk out of my door he wouldn't take his feelings for me with him, leaving my home as if nothing had happened while I was left to carry the emotional burden of unrequited love. How can you say that you love me and that you miss me when were alone no one's around yet you carry on a relationship in public with someone else? How can you question me and who I'm dating and get downright jealous knowing that you broke it off with me and that you have a man? Why do you still even bother with me? I tried to sever ties with him so many times, I really did. But he just wouldn't leave me alone. It seemed like every time I got strong enough to walk away for good he'd smell it and then he'd call, or he'd text, or he'd come to see me and we'd be back in the vicious cycle one again, carrying on our illicit affair. And we'd lurk around in secret as I foolishly lived as the side piece. He was using me like a married man uses a mistress, as an escape, as a respite from the problems of his relationship. Feeding me empty promises of someday were gonna be together, someday I'm gonna leave my wife , in this case his boyfriend, for me. When I knew all too well that like a mistress I was just being used and strung along. Even if it weren't done maliciously it still doesn't erase the fact that it was being done.
Yesterday, in my depression I finally had enough. It was time to take a desperate measure. My mind went back to the last time I'd felt that bad, back in 2006 when I changed my phone number and just started all over again with a clean slate. And Lord knows I love my phone number but it was time for change. Unfortunately due to the fact that I had this epiphany last night at 3a and that today is Labor Day I can't change my number until tomorrow. Fuck! Don't you hate it when you get inspired and wanna make a major life change but you can't do it right away cuzza something stupid like a store being closed or something? Ugh! That shit is so annoying!
A good friend of mine asked me last night what having a new phone number would really do to stop my communication with Pubby and other unhealthy people and relationships that I need to cut off. Good question, friend. What funny about me is this. I know that I won't call Pubby or give him my new phone number because those are pre-meditated actions that take thought. Though my heart is weak I still have a very logical mind and my mind won't let me go. Our most recent rekindlings were not as a result of me calling him because I know better than that. What if I called and he didn't answer as he had done many times before? I wouldn't just blatantly play myself like that. I need a little bit of coaxing to be played. Things always restarted with him calling me. Seeing his name flash across my phone meant that he cared about me, that he was concerned about me, that he wanted to talk to me, that there was hope for us and it brought all the old feelings back. As a result I always picked up. I was so curious to hear what he had to say. Would this be the call where he says that he's seen the light and that he's dumped what's his name and wants to finally be with me, the right way. My fragile heart couldn't risk missing such a call. In my mind I know that it's easier not to make a call than it is not to answer a call and because my heart has proven time and time again to be too weak to resist answering his calls I now have to put a physical, tangible barrier between our communication for my own good, that's why first thing in the morning I'm changing my phone number and starting over.
At this point I'm desperate. I must get over him by any means necessary, whatever that takes. No matter what anyone thinks. I even wrote a blog post about the first time I ever did this called "Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures... ". The great thing about writing a blog is that I can look back on my past experiences and learn from them and also be chastised and held accountable by them. Who knew that I'd have to take such a desperate measure once again, but I'm not perfect and these I must count again as lessons learned. So I quit. As a result I feel much better and am better equipped for the journey ahead.
Happy Labor Day and whatever you're laboring over today, make sure it's worth it.
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Playing In The Background...
"Moratorium"
by Alanis Morisette
from the album "Flavors Of Entanglement"
and
"Leave Me Alone"
by Syleena Johnson
from the album "Chapter 3: The Flesh"
and
"Caught Up"
by Joy Denalane
from the album "Born & Raised"
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PS: Shout outs and thanks to all who came out especially ShaneBlu and my new friends from Pennsauken, NJ and all of my special guests, you know who you are. Even though I won't personally be doing the "No Shade" party any longer I will always be in full support of it and my partners.
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