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The same week I ate bodega pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving (re: last week’s column), I was lucky enough to be on the cover of this very magazine you’re reading now.

The Thanksgiving issue was a week shy of my one-year anniversary writing for Get Out! Magazine and featured me, entirely nude and barely cropped, staring right at you. My column that week was something new, a very solemn look back on my first Thanksgiving in New York, spent alone, with an interview by Eileen Shapiro about my writing (and, of course, my sex life).

I was so excited. I took every opportunity that week to go out, to take friends for a casual drink after work at any bar I knew had the magazine – Pieces, Boots and Saddle, Barrage, you name it. Then I’d feign embarrassment (before making them read it, and tell me how wonderfully the cover came out). I even sent a copy to my mom – yeah, my mom reads my column. (She also writes to me each time there’s an error, like when I improperly use a word or misspell something. She keeps me humble.)

The next week, while my cover was still in circulation, a group of friends wanted to do karaoke – so naturally, I suggested a gay bar that had Get Out!. We met in the back, gathered at a long table: I wanted to wait for everyone to arrive before I “accidentally” discovered the magazine.

Finally, with everyone drinking away and their karaoke choice in queue, I pretended to spot it. “Oh my God,” I said out loud, looking around, “they still have my cover!” I got up to snag a few to ogle at.

On my way over to the bar, I noticed the bartender bringing over another big stack of magazines: this week’s Get Out. After placing them on the counter top, he placed a large garbage bin underneath, and, with a swift and easy motion, pushed all of my issues into it.

I stopped short. Just like that, I became old news – my 15 minutes of fame (or, rather, seven days of fame) were over.

I turned around – all of my friends were staring, and, all together, burst out laughing. I returned to the table, ordered a drink, and didn’t sing the whole night through.

Don’t worry, that didn’t keep me down for long. I still have copies of my cover, and whenever I need a little pick-me-up, I pick one up and smile.

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