The other night I was helping close Triangle. I had planned on going for one drink (Ha! As if.) but Phil the bartender had to leave a little early to be up at some ungodly hour, or he wanted to get some from the boyfriend. Either way, perfectly legitimate and important reasons. I'm not about to get in the way of a man/woman and their sex (let's call it, "doing laundry").
On a sidenote... It seems to me that a productive way to protest George W. Bush and the rest of the religious fundy ideas about morality is to do lots of gay laundry. If you don't want to do any gay laundry, don't particularly care for the image of lots of gay laundry doing itself over and over and over again or just don't feel like doing gay laundry every moment of every day...then here are a few more ideas:
1) Take Bush's tax cut money and spend it on something really gay...donate it to a gay organization, community center, or other non-profit entity...like my bank account, I don't make a profit and I'm gay as hell. The past three years, I've taken my tax refund and put it into trips to gay volleyball tournaments.
2) Take Bush's tax cut money and spend it in gay Canada. Take a pen and write on a dollar bill..."George W. Bush's tax cut money" and stuff it in the sock of some naked stripper in a Canadian gay bar. That's porn (I knew it when I saw it), gays, strippers and...uh...men of the night. That'll REALLY piss em off. Oh, touche my friend, touche.
More later. I guess that's a really long sidenote.
Back to Triangle. I hadn't planned on staying very long at all. But, I'm all about helping out...for free drinks and a fellow in need. Then, I realized why I've been persona non grata at the bars lately.
I absolutely LOATHE stupid drunks. It's probably why I voted against Bush both times.
By the time I'm done with working at the restaurant, I've dealt with all the stupid people I can handle for one night. Thinking about going out to the bars and trying to make conversation with someone or involuntarily listening to a conversation that's forcing my IQ into the "short bus" range is no longer my idea of fun. I really don't go out looking to hook up with someone nowadays, so there's no reason to sacrifice my sanity just to talk to someone cute, drunk, easy or all of the above.
I was sidled up to the Triangle bar at about 1:40 am, begging to hear the beautiful words..."LAST CALL. Unless you work here or sleep with someone who works here..."
1:40 am. The exact time that the pre-sidewalk sale ritual usually begins. Horny gay guys drunk enough to admit it to themselves that they really want to do some laundry scan the bar for someone. Said randy fellows begin a conversation with other said randy fellows that, on average, lasts about 4.22 seconds before both people see the perm press cycle tumbling about in their minds. Stupid drunk talk ensues.
It was at 1:41 that I experienced something psychologists refer to as "repressed memory." Memories so horrific that they are pushed to the deep recesses of subconsciousness and forgotten so that one may continue to live a sane, unmedicated life.
The guy standing next to me...cute, blonde...said something to me. It might have been a question. It might have been a statement. But, either way, I can't remember. No, really, I can't remember what the guy said. I've tried to remember. I've struggled to remember. I called and asked someone standing next to me if he remembered.
I was so horribly embarassed for the guy that I repressed the memory for him. It was like the time I couldn't remember the American Idol reject who fondled himself and "sang" "Like a Virgin" no matter how many times people tried to remember it for me.
I do remember my reaction. I stared at the mirror on the wall behind the bar. I asked Glenn, the bartender, "Can you see me?" I lit a cigarette and pounded my drink...at the same time. I think I might have piddled a little in my pants. I don't exactly know what piddling is, but I'm pretty sure I did it.
My IQ dropped.
Now, I must say that I thoroughly enjoy funny drunks. Everyone needs to laugh and laugh a lot. Funny drunks find the comedy in everything and usually create some for themselves. Love it. Well, in the right context.
Like when an actual crack whore steals your purse and then answers your cell phone when you call it...hangs up on you...then answers again when you call back from the same phone.
Like when you're standing in the gay part of Bourbon Street (all 15 cubic feet of it) and start leading a sing-along of "Let's Hear It For The Boys" and "It's Raining Men" when the police cars drive through.
Like when you're at a straight club hosting a gay volleyball party in Vancouver, BC, and proceed to convince the bouncer of the "Cher Rationale" for letting a drag queen skip the line into the party because, duh, she had to have her costume change. And then convincing him that, yes, that IS the same drag queen.
But, stupid drunks make me angry. Just like holiday theme knit sweaters. THE KNITTING SHOULD NOT ILLUSTRATE AN ENTIRE HOLIDAY SEASON.
The ex-gays have it all wrong. They should stop with the whole "play masculine sports" and "watch ESPN" and "take your electroshock therapy like a man." They should just put a homo in a room full of stupid gay drunks. Hell, I questioned my ability to ever be turned on by a man again after hearing one sentence from one stupid gay drunk. Imagine a room full of them.
Now, I'm not saying that while drunk in a bar, one should be able to name all 7 of the current U.S. Supreme Court Justices. I'm just saying one should know that the Supreme Court exists...hell there's 51 of them.
I'm not saying that while drunk in a bar, one should be able to name all 50 U.S. states (well, add in D.C. I guess). I'm just saying that you should be able to make eye contact with the U.S. on a map.
I'm not saying one should know the middle names of the first or last couple of Presidents. I'm just saying one should know their own middle name.
I'm not saying that one should be able to discuss the multidimensional symbolism of "Empire Records." I'm just saying one should not be seriously advocating for a 90210 reunion movie.
Alcohol can do many things, like heighten certain characteristics that one has: funny, emotional, quietness, femininity, masculinity, aggressiveness and, yes, an inability to execute intelligent thinking.
Instead of venting this at an actual person and making a shitload of permanent enemies, I think I'm gonna take some time off from the bars. Maybe I'll start cruising coffee shops for...oh wait, I already do that.
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