wherein I bitch about stupid bartenders
I'm on my dad's computer, whose keyboard I detest. But I'm going to risk potential finger injury in order to talk about my trip to Boston; where I got in a fight with a bartender, flirted with a man dressed as a dead pirate gravedigger, and witnessed the final blows in the latest Boston Massacre.
First thing's first. We went to the Red Sox game on Monday and it was... pitiful. But I knew that it was going to be, so I didn't really care. As I sat there eating peanuts in the super uncomfortable seats of Fenway Park, I was finally able to be apart of the thing that I've been so in love with for so many years: the love-hate relationship with the Sox. They were down two at the end of the eighth when they hit a home run. The previous feelings of moderate depression that had been surfacing were eliminated, until they managed to totally strike out within a matter of minutes in the ninth. And that's what's so beautiful about it!
And Tuesday, we went to Cheers - both of them. The Bull & Finch Pub was phenomenal but the set replica was kind of crappy. Not surprisingly, the replica was where I argued with the bartender. A man who was 23 if he was a day.
Apparently, sitting in the seats of Frasier and Lilith, was a pair of "drag queens." (I can not confirm nor deny this, no matter how much I was staring. Which means I must clarify... I was staring because I was fairly convinced that they were both women and was trying to determine their level of affection. It was clearly higher than that of two friends. And, what can I say? You don't get to see many lesbians in the birthplace of the Republican party. And attractive lesbians? And yes, they were quite attractive.)
They were a pair of well-dressed women, slightly reminiscent of Liza Minnelli, sure, but that does NOT make them gay men. I like Liza Minnelli! Not that I'm necessarily the best variable in this case, but whatever. Their hair was clearly not their own, and whether that was a bad color job or a bad wig job I really couldn't say. They both had a martini and were sharing a salad, talking in hushed tones. Frankly, I found them to be adorable. (Side bar: There is a Geek Squad car parked across the street from me as I type. I find them to be adorable.)
[Billy] the Bartender comes up to me to see if I want more Coke, after the women leave. When I decline he, pretty randomly (in my opinion) states that I'm too young to be seeing such things. My dad, ever the tactful one, says something like "You mean the transvestites?" I simply told him that he was too young to be so close-minded. Provided they were even trans, because I do not know that they were. Nor do I really care. It just pissed me off. I'm so used to living in my little isolated bubble of The Internet where "everyone" (read: everyone I allow myself to come across) is super open-minded and loving of everyone. So, when I enter the "real world" I wanna slap a bitch.
Later that night, I convinced my dad to do a ghost tour of Boston, which is always fun. Our tour guide called himself "Silas" and was supposed to be the gravedigging ghost of a rogue pirate. He was sort of cute and let me strike up a conversation with his shovel and he got me away from my dad for a while. It all started when he tried to scare me and while I can't say that I found him attractive, I did have fun. And it's a good story.
First thing's first. We went to the Red Sox game on Monday and it was... pitiful. But I knew that it was going to be, so I didn't really care. As I sat there eating peanuts in the super uncomfortable seats of Fenway Park, I was finally able to be apart of the thing that I've been so in love with for so many years: the love-hate relationship with the Sox. They were down two at the end of the eighth when they hit a home run. The previous feelings of moderate depression that had been surfacing were eliminated, until they managed to totally strike out within a matter of minutes in the ninth. And that's what's so beautiful about it!
And Tuesday, we went to Cheers - both of them. The Bull & Finch Pub was phenomenal but the set replica was kind of crappy. Not surprisingly, the replica was where I argued with the bartender. A man who was 23 if he was a day.
Apparently, sitting in the seats of Frasier and Lilith, was a pair of "drag queens." (I can not confirm nor deny this, no matter how much I was staring. Which means I must clarify... I was staring because I was fairly convinced that they were both women and was trying to determine their level of affection. It was clearly higher than that of two friends. And, what can I say? You don't get to see many lesbians in the birthplace of the Republican party. And attractive lesbians? And yes, they were quite attractive.)
They were a pair of well-dressed women, slightly reminiscent of Liza Minnelli, sure, but that does NOT make them gay men. I like Liza Minnelli! Not that I'm necessarily the best variable in this case, but whatever. Their hair was clearly not their own, and whether that was a bad color job or a bad wig job I really couldn't say. They both had a martini and were sharing a salad, talking in hushed tones. Frankly, I found them to be adorable. (Side bar: There is a Geek Squad car parked across the street from me as I type. I find them to be adorable.)
[Billy] the Bartender comes up to me to see if I want more Coke, after the women leave. When I decline he, pretty randomly (in my opinion) states that I'm too young to be seeing such things. My dad, ever the tactful one, says something like "You mean the transvestites?" I simply told him that he was too young to be so close-minded. Provided they were even trans, because I do not know that they were. Nor do I really care. It just pissed me off. I'm so used to living in my little isolated bubble of The Internet where "everyone" (read: everyone I allow myself to come across) is super open-minded and loving of everyone. So, when I enter the "real world" I wanna slap a bitch.
Later that night, I convinced my dad to do a ghost tour of Boston, which is always fun. Our tour guide called himself "Silas" and was supposed to be the gravedigging ghost of a rogue pirate. He was sort of cute and let me strike up a conversation with his shovel and he got me away from my dad for a while. It all started when he tried to scare me and while I can't say that I found him attractive, I did have fun. And it's a good story.