This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Three Stooges

A slow night at work brought me home 13 hours after I'd left it, with another 11 hour day on my clock. I was vaguely kvetchy and floundering at the prospect of returning to days without touch. The Small Bar, Ready Made magazine, and all my cigarettes seemed the perfect way to feel cynical but un-isolated.

I sat at the bar and ordered, and 2 men approached me. I decided I'd tolerate their presence until they began hitting on me. If that happened, I'd pointedly bury my face in some amazingly interesting article on the many uses for empty wine crates. The boys were pretty and nice enough. When they began quarreling behind me I realized, Hoorah! They're gay!

They filled me in on the argument, which was over the "territory" of the neighborhood bar and the men therein. I agreed with Sam: Ryan could metaphorically pee on the corner of the building all he liked, but that marking did not cover the contents inside. Finally, I asked who it was they were claiming dibs on and Sam nodded his head in the direction of a taller, also pretty, boy coming our way.

The tall one clumsily introduced himself as Ralph, laughed, and told me his real name. I was dumbfounded by his barrage of cleverness and the real name didn't stick. I told him I'd be calling him Ralph for the duration of our acquaintance. He told me he was from Oklahoma City. This was not a lie.

As the night wore on, I found myself appreciating the company. They introduced me to our bartender for the night, John. We talked about our other favorite bartenders and who lived closest (I win by 20 steps or so). Ryan was the only one who wasn't being flamboyant and churlish and I found myself feeling affection for him that went beyond beer sot and amusement. He confided in me that he's terrified of committed relationships, but is sick of meaningless sex. I tried to woo him to the ways of polyamory, an idea which he and Sam were both astoundingly ignorant of.

I think gay boys stereotypically take the assumption of sluttiness that culture foists upon them for granted.

More and more drinks were had, and still Ryan made no move on Ralph, who had been loudly declaring his heterosexuality for some time. Well, those claims were made between the other pronouncements on his attractiveness, French heritage, and successfully platonic man love with the boys back home.

None of us believed for a whit that he was straight. Well, I conceded that on the Kinsey scale he might be a 2 or 3. I asked if he was bisexual, he said no, but he liked to "put it in girls' other places."

Me: "You mean, you like to fuck women in the ass? Cool."
(Uproarious laughter from Sam and Ralph as Ryan looks uncomfortable)

I got Ryan's number after Sam decided to make his exit. We had discovered a shared love for marijuana and he informed me of his attractive dyke roommate (huzzah!). We became friends.

That left me alone with Ralph, who was bumming cigarettes from everyone in the place because he'd helped me smoke all mine already. Now that the attentions of Sam and Ryan were gone, 90% of the words he sloshed out were about his attractiveness and success with the ladies in bed. He couldn't figure out why he'd never had a real girlfriend though.

Beer 3 had me feeling nicely buzzed and it was closing time. Ralph bummed us another cigarette and asked me if I had any beer at home. My want for touch had stumbled into a vague desire to make out with the obnoxious boy.

Sure, I said, I have 1 beer and some whiskey, let's go.

He assessed my apartment as cute and nice and asked where the beer was. I handed it to him and he spied my computer.
"Can I check my myspace?"

This is when I aught to have sent him on his merrily gay way.

"Sure, but my computer's sort of a piece, so give me a few minutes to get you there."

He was too drunk to type his password in, and because the "n" has worn off it's key, he couldn't ever find it. I got him into the 'space and he decided to show me all his pictures. He was especially keen on showing me what a pretty girl he made one Halloween, thanks to his "gorgeous bone structure" and the half hour his "sissy" ("the most beautiful woman in the world") spent making him up.

He was a Playboy bunny. I could no longer contain the laughter bubbling up in me at his buffoonery. I laughed at him and laughed. I made him feel badly, and tried to assure him I didn't mean any harm. He took offense when I wasn't knocked dead by his bunny costume and showed my the pictures from his 30th birthday bash instead.

I spent at least a half hour of my life looking at pictures and getting narrations from one of the most drunkenly conceited dopes I've ever had the pleasure of dying a little on. He kept telling me how much I wanted to kiss him, a thought that had died immediately after he knocked over his beer on my floor for the second time. He kept saying "Pretty is Pretty."

At 3 am I wore out. I was tired and wanted him gone so I told him to go. He was laid back on my bed lazily, with his pants unbuttoned (when did he do that?), and looked at me in confusion.
"What? What do you mean 'go'? I'm comfortable, come here, just lay down with me."

I humored him for 20 seconds or so, then sat up again. "Nope, you have to go."
"But lady" (he'd forgotten my name 2 hours ago) "I'm comfortable, let's just go to sleep."

"No Ralph, you're going home. It's 60 steps away from this door, you're getting up and walking home."

It took about 7 more minutes of this go round for him to grasp the concept that I Really, Actually, Seriously, didn't want him to grace me with his presence throughout the night. I stood, pulled him up, and opened the door to motion him out. He was still trying to playfully argue with me when my wolf mama impatience mentality was getting warmed up. I was not going to fuck around any longer.

I had my hand on his chest, firmly pushing him toward the exit, and he was trying to horse around still. That's when my angel kitty, Miss Billie the huntress, decided she wanted to go for a walk and scampered her cute little ass into the hall. He noticed and gave chase. After he picked her up and handed her to me, he began to back down the stairs. His parting words were "hey, let me come over and watch you have sex with a girl sometime."
"Yeah Ralph, that'll happen. Three flights down and your out. Bye."

Hooray, he's out of my house.

With Billie in my arms, I locked the door, kissed her little nose, and thanked her for provident timing.

Today, I paint the room a lovely lovely lovely hay golden color.

2 comments:

David said...

where do i even begin? suffice it to say, my dear honey rose, you rock. rock rock rock.

aka Shasta said...

you can begin with my fiery wit, if you like.