Talkin’ Myself Down

Just more G2H2 pre/during/post bitch sessions stories.

I wasn’t fully awake when I posted yesterday. I was just slow to get through the post and it’s all I could do to finish and publish the thing. In retrospect, I would have had one post (as opposed to this second one) and the entire thing would have not only been funnier, but flowed a bit better.

….at least in my dream world. I suppose this is why I need an editor. Not that I am great at taking constructive criticism.

I first invited my friend Todd to join me. Not my friend Todd, the porn ingenue. He lives in San Francisco where other male “stars” live. No, this Todd works in finance – which can be just as sleazy, I suppose.

Todd has a wicked sense of humour and he never fails to make me laugh. When I asked him (via email), his response was: I wish I had your courage to go out and consume hundreds of wasted calories that do untold destruction to my body. Bitch. …so alone I went.

I said in last month’s G2H2 post, that these aren’t really flash mob scenes. It is all very controlled. The gay organization makes plans with the bars and it’s nothing more of a gathering of fags. No one is taking over any straight bar. We’re renting, basically. The only one benefiting from our disposable income are these bars. No straights are hurt or even offended in the process. Not even a little.

This time it was at the House of Blues. They have a very small bar and most of the place is a restaurant and a party room. Yes, we were in the party room. 100% segregated from any straight person who did not work behind the bar – which I’m not sure there was even one there.
This I do not get. Why not just have it at a fucking nice gay bar then? Why are we giving our money to these assholes who put baby in a corner! Nobody puts baby in a corner. (For the record – Dirty Dancing is another movie I have never seen. I just know of the quote. I think the first ‘b’ in baby should be upper cased, but whatever!)

So in I walk in and the hostess goes to me…..she goes…..oh you want the Cambridge room and tells me how to get there. Now I never said where I was going, or if I was just there for dinner or the bar. Bitch. Do I look that gay?

But back I went. There they made me show an ID! An ID!!!! Maybe if I were 30 I’d be flattered, but I am pushing 46. No one is thinking I’m underage or close to it. I made a crack to the other guy behind me, since he clearly was nowhere near the age of 21 either – but he didn’t think my crack about “our age” was funny. Bitch.

Then there was the room. Now you just know a gay man designed this room, well since…..someone had to and who do these jobs go to? All I can say is: Worst. Flow. Ever. The bar (only one) all the way at the back of the room. It was like a Great White concert at a Rhode Island in reverse.

…and let me tell you, there is a special place in hell for guys who pay for drinks with plastic. It is $4 for a beer! If you don’t have the money – get the fuck out of here! There are 300 thirsty fags behind you – and now the server has to stop, swipe your frickin ‘ card, rip the receipt off for you to sign, etc. Get out of our way. We are functioning and practicing alcoholics – we cannot be bothered by you.

I know it sounds like I’m moaning, and I kind of am. But if you want to interact with a few hundred homos, where does one go? As Todd said, he can’t do the gay bars, because by the time they get going, his hair is in curlers and the cucumber slices are already covering his eyes.

Will I go again? Maybe. I clearly would have to set aside my expectations and just go to go. There are flaws in the system but I guess I should just treat it as a bar and nothing else.  I don’t think I’ll go by my lonesome anymore.  First, as we saw with Eddie, the potential for me to get into trouble is too high.

I just want to drink and laugh with friends.

Song by: the G0-Go’s

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