One of Theirs
Including the walk from The Strand to 2A, a bar for yuppies, it took me twenty minutes to realize that I was on a date with a gay guy. This discounts our first meeting outside of Movida, in which he leaned his head against the wall and smiled with all of his teeth, plagued by the fever that is my first impression; his voicemails, splattered with compliments and see-me urgency, were also not factored into this time frame.
Embarrassment struck when we started talking about the seventeen-year-old DJ for MisShapes.
"He is so cute," my date squealed. "He's just like, the most beautiful boy."
He had been hugging me and introducing me to his attractive friends so until that point, I had been trying to figure out if I was coming off as sophomoric for ordering well drinks while he asked for his gin as Sapphire. Moreover, he was paying for my cups. I reeled my phone from my bag and sent a mass text: Guys, I'm on a date with a gay guy.
We left 2A and went to the red bar next to Rush Hour to meet two sisters who are fans of my gay date's band; the height of its commercial success was some Z100 air-play and a tour of Asia opening for Meatloaf. The two woman were massively overweight, and one, celebrating 25 years of life, was childishly drunk, sputtering secrets and wavering as a dreidel mid-spin.
"She's a light-weight," explained my gay date.
"Well, not really."
"My computer died recently," whined my gay date.
"Yeah? Mine, too."
"It sucks. I can never watch porn now."
"Oh, I just use my roommate's computer. Where do you look at porn?"
"AdamsBasement.com." Gay. "We should have a porn party!"
I told him that that sounded great.
"So," whispered my gay date, "I have a confession to make."
I was trying to make eye-contact with the bartender but I turned to him and smiled.
"Sometimes, I like having sex with girls."
My initial understanding of the homo-situation was that he had fooled me into thinking it was a date because he thought I was cool and wanted to hang out with me. Although this is deceptive and backward, I hadn't mind it and was not especially interested in him, anyway.
"I just think women are so sexy. And you have boobs! I don't know why you were saying that."
I was now to understand that he had picked me up in hopes of casual sex, attracted to my personality and willing to tolerate my anatomy. He had searched MySpace high and low for the perfect candidate for his preference-crossing, and there I had been on the street, chewing a cigarette whose brand shares his name. Unfortunately, none of my dark, secret attractions involve gay guys.
"Your earrings are really beautiful."
"God, it's already one? I have to get back to Brooklyn before my friend falls asleep."
Unfortunately, Owen was already sleeping in the bed of an Amazon he's been seeing. [She came to the Halloween party at his apartment as a competitor on Global Guts so, because of her stature, she has retained the name Aggro Crag.] I pledged that, rather than have him put shoes on, I would walk to Aggro Crag's apartment and borrow his keys, unlocking the door for him at any early hour the following morning.
Pessimistic and probably headed in the wrong direction, I came upon the White Castle on Bushwick Avenue.
"Well, shit," I muttered, craving french fries.
A boy was already at the doors of White Castle, illustrating that they were locked with his failure to enter. Regardless, White Castle is a 24-hour establishment.
"We probably have to go through the Drive Thru," I called to him. We approached the Order screen, but none of the employees responded.
"Our weight probably doesn't register," he sighed, and we walked toward the Pick-Up windows. We waited in line behind two cars and talked about what we were getting. The employees refused to open the windows when we walked up.
"You again?!" yelled one through the glass.
"What? We've never been here before."
The employee pointed to a laminated sheet of paper: "The dining area will be closed between the hours of 12 AM and 6 AM. Only cars will be served through the Drive Thru. No Pedestrians. THANKS MGT."
"Yo, what the fuck?" asked Nick, who had planned to buy a Crave Case [which includes 30 Sliders] and who invited me to the party that he was going to bring them to.
"This is economic discrimination," I asserted, accepting his invitation to an apartment one block away from White Castle.
I noticed the party immediately because it had a bonfire a-blaze from within a bucket on the front lawn. Joe, resident, fire-starter, and religious Slider-eater, stood when we walked up.
"This is my very good friend, Alaina," Nick explained. "We go way back to four minutes ago in the White Castle Drive Thru."
They gave me a drink and I forgot about my snack, but Nick and Joe's craving did not subside.
"It was so fucked up," groaned Nick.
"We gotta go back," Joe said, standing again. "We'll just go back there and ask one of the cars if they'll order for us or let us in. I would totally pick someone up if they needed White Castle."
When we were half a block from White Castle, a cab pulled up to the corner and emptied out. We dashed to it.
"Can you take us through the Drive Thru of White Castle?"
The driver agreed to, and didn't turn on the meter. "What do you want?" he asked when he pulled up to the screen.
Nick said, "I'll order, I'll order," and then the employees welcomed us to White Castle. "Can I have a Crave Case?"
The employee who had turned us away before was speaking: "Are you askin' me or are you tellin' me?"
"Umm, I'm asking you?"
"Well all right! Anythin' else?"
"A regular fries."
"BALLAAAAAAAAAAA," yelled the employee, and we drove up to the window. When the cab pulled out of the Drive-Thru, we told him to let us out, tipped him $5 and walked back to the party. We told the driver that we had never taken a taxi to get fast food, and he said he had never driven anyone to get fast food.
I texted Owen, "At a party," so that he wouldn't wait for me. Four Sliders were given out to party-people and the rest were wolfed by Joe, Nick, and their friend Mike in Joe's closed bedroom. We drank there for hours while Joe told stories.
"Today at like 5, my roommate who's gay was doing sit-ups in his boxers in the living room with Madonna on. My other roommate came by and said, 'Don't worry, the party's only going to be this gay for about another hour.'" The Scissor Sisters were blaring from the living room.
I left to use the bathroom and could see flashing lights in the front of the apartment.
"Are the popozao here?" I asked a guy who had been sweating on the dance floor.
"DUH! Where have you been?"
"In that room."
"Oh, ho. What's goin' on in there?"
"We're just sitting around."
"Well, apparently the people who live here have a pretty hefty fine on their hands for that fire out front."
"O.K.," I said, re-entering Joe's room. "I didn't use the bathroom, but apparently you have hefty fine on your hands because of the fire you built."
"Shit."
"The cops are here and I think one of your roommates has to make a court appearance."
"Well, one of my roommate's told me to build it, so it's not really my fault. But I probably should've used one of the grills out back instead of the bucket."
"You have grills and you used a bucket??"
"At the time it just seemed easier because the grills had covers that I would have to take off and the bucket didn't."
At four-thirty, Joe's friends were weary and high and resolved to walk home. I had told them about my gay date and about the text I had sent Owen. Joe turned to me. "What are you going to do?"
Sleeping over in his room, I took off my earrings and wiped off a weak rush of blood from my left ear. I told Joe how my gay date had felt about them.
"Well, not to be your gay date, but I like your earrings, too." Joe awoke after five hours of sleep for his one-day-a-week bar tending gig at Karma. He sat up and then hunched over, nearly in an upright fetal position. "Maybe ten sliders wasn't worth it after all."
Embarrassment struck when we started talking about the seventeen-year-old DJ for MisShapes.
"He is so cute," my date squealed. "He's just like, the most beautiful boy."
He had been hugging me and introducing me to his attractive friends so until that point, I had been trying to figure out if I was coming off as sophomoric for ordering well drinks while he asked for his gin as Sapphire. Moreover, he was paying for my cups. I reeled my phone from my bag and sent a mass text: Guys, I'm on a date with a gay guy.
We left 2A and went to the red bar next to Rush Hour to meet two sisters who are fans of my gay date's band; the height of its commercial success was some Z100 air-play and a tour of Asia opening for Meatloaf. The two woman were massively overweight, and one, celebrating 25 years of life, was childishly drunk, sputtering secrets and wavering as a dreidel mid-spin.
"She's a light-weight," explained my gay date.
"Well, not really."
"My computer died recently," whined my gay date.
"Yeah? Mine, too."
"It sucks. I can never watch porn now."
"Oh, I just use my roommate's computer. Where do you look at porn?"
"AdamsBasement.com." Gay. "We should have a porn party!"
I told him that that sounded great.
"So," whispered my gay date, "I have a confession to make."
I was trying to make eye-contact with the bartender but I turned to him and smiled.
"Sometimes, I like having sex with girls."
My initial understanding of the homo-situation was that he had fooled me into thinking it was a date because he thought I was cool and wanted to hang out with me. Although this is deceptive and backward, I hadn't mind it and was not especially interested in him, anyway.
"I just think women are so sexy. And you have boobs! I don't know why you were saying that."
I was now to understand that he had picked me up in hopes of casual sex, attracted to my personality and willing to tolerate my anatomy. He had searched MySpace high and low for the perfect candidate for his preference-crossing, and there I had been on the street, chewing a cigarette whose brand shares his name. Unfortunately, none of my dark, secret attractions involve gay guys.
"Your earrings are really beautiful."
"God, it's already one? I have to get back to Brooklyn before my friend falls asleep."
Unfortunately, Owen was already sleeping in the bed of an Amazon he's been seeing. [She came to the Halloween party at his apartment as a competitor on Global Guts so, because of her stature, she has retained the name Aggro Crag.] I pledged that, rather than have him put shoes on, I would walk to Aggro Crag's apartment and borrow his keys, unlocking the door for him at any early hour the following morning.
Pessimistic and probably headed in the wrong direction, I came upon the White Castle on Bushwick Avenue.
"Well, shit," I muttered, craving french fries.
A boy was already at the doors of White Castle, illustrating that they were locked with his failure to enter. Regardless, White Castle is a 24-hour establishment.
"We probably have to go through the Drive Thru," I called to him. We approached the Order screen, but none of the employees responded.
"Our weight probably doesn't register," he sighed, and we walked toward the Pick-Up windows. We waited in line behind two cars and talked about what we were getting. The employees refused to open the windows when we walked up.
"You again?!" yelled one through the glass.
"What? We've never been here before."
The employee pointed to a laminated sheet of paper: "The dining area will be closed between the hours of 12 AM and 6 AM. Only cars will be served through the Drive Thru. No Pedestrians. THANKS MGT."
"Yo, what the fuck?" asked Nick, who had planned to buy a Crave Case [which includes 30 Sliders] and who invited me to the party that he was going to bring them to.
"This is economic discrimination," I asserted, accepting his invitation to an apartment one block away from White Castle.
I noticed the party immediately because it had a bonfire a-blaze from within a bucket on the front lawn. Joe, resident, fire-starter, and religious Slider-eater, stood when we walked up.
"This is my very good friend, Alaina," Nick explained. "We go way back to four minutes ago in the White Castle Drive Thru."
They gave me a drink and I forgot about my snack, but Nick and Joe's craving did not subside.
"It was so fucked up," groaned Nick.
"We gotta go back," Joe said, standing again. "We'll just go back there and ask one of the cars if they'll order for us or let us in. I would totally pick someone up if they needed White Castle."
When we were half a block from White Castle, a cab pulled up to the corner and emptied out. We dashed to it.
"Can you take us through the Drive Thru of White Castle?"
The driver agreed to, and didn't turn on the meter. "What do you want?" he asked when he pulled up to the screen.
Nick said, "I'll order, I'll order," and then the employees welcomed us to White Castle. "Can I have a Crave Case?"
The employee who had turned us away before was speaking: "Are you askin' me or are you tellin' me?"
"Umm, I'm asking you?"
"Well all right! Anythin' else?"
"A regular fries."
"BALLAAAAAAAAAAA," yelled the employee, and we drove up to the window. When the cab pulled out of the Drive-Thru, we told him to let us out, tipped him $5 and walked back to the party. We told the driver that we had never taken a taxi to get fast food, and he said he had never driven anyone to get fast food.
I texted Owen, "At a party," so that he wouldn't wait for me. Four Sliders were given out to party-people and the rest were wolfed by Joe, Nick, and their friend Mike in Joe's closed bedroom. We drank there for hours while Joe told stories.
"Today at like 5, my roommate who's gay was doing sit-ups in his boxers in the living room with Madonna on. My other roommate came by and said, 'Don't worry, the party's only going to be this gay for about another hour.'" The Scissor Sisters were blaring from the living room.
I left to use the bathroom and could see flashing lights in the front of the apartment.
"Are the popozao here?" I asked a guy who had been sweating on the dance floor.
"DUH! Where have you been?"
"In that room."
"Oh, ho. What's goin' on in there?"
"We're just sitting around."
"Well, apparently the people who live here have a pretty hefty fine on their hands for that fire out front."
"O.K.," I said, re-entering Joe's room. "I didn't use the bathroom, but apparently you have hefty fine on your hands because of the fire you built."
"Shit."
"The cops are here and I think one of your roommates has to make a court appearance."
"Well, one of my roommate's told me to build it, so it's not really my fault. But I probably should've used one of the grills out back instead of the bucket."
"You have grills and you used a bucket??"
"At the time it just seemed easier because the grills had covers that I would have to take off and the bucket didn't."
At four-thirty, Joe's friends were weary and high and resolved to walk home. I had told them about my gay date and about the text I had sent Owen. Joe turned to me. "What are you going to do?"
Sleeping over in his room, I took off my earrings and wiped off a weak rush of blood from my left ear. I told Joe how my gay date had felt about them.
"Well, not to be your gay date, but I like your earrings, too." Joe awoke after five hours of sleep for his one-day-a-week bar tending gig at Karma. He sat up and then hunched over, nearly in an upright fetal position. "Maybe ten sliders wasn't worth it after all."