2007-02-04 - 11:16 p.m.
I leave for the train station in an hour and a half. Wowee Zowee!
There's a story about when I was in Atlanta that I really wanted to tell but I kept forgetting to write it out. So here it is.
One night, Joe's friend Sisco (Cisco? Sysco? Cistern?) suggested that the three of us go out to this gay cowboy bar a two minute walk away. There are probably very few times I will ever be in the south in my lifetime, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and try and get myself killed by going to the bar with them. Nothing says death like a gay club in the south.
Surprisingly, the bar was really fun (even if it was filled with a lot of ladies in wrangler jeans doing line-dancing--lesbians?) and I was having a great time with Joe. Though, however overt Joe and I were being about things, leave it to a gay guy not to get the hint and attempt hitting on me. Right?
So this one really drunk gay guy comes up to this other blonde gay guy we were talking to and was all, "What's this boy's name?!?" Our blonde friend is like, "Steve." Then Drunky Gay turned to me, his drunky arm thrown all drunky-like around his drunk friend's drunk shoulder, and yelled, "Hey, Frankie! What's up?" Probably the best part of this exchange was Timid Blonde Gay Guy's reaction, a very sheepish and embarrassed, "But...um...I told you his name was Steve."
I tell him my name is Steve and he continues to call me Frankie. Which I'm fine with. Really. Then he asks me, "So, hey! What are you doing this weekend?" I point to Joe and tell Drunky Gay that I'm from Cleveland and spending the weekend with him, Joe. Drunky Gay is not fazed and continues. "So, hey! What are you up to tomorrow night?"
Now this is a moment to pause. Whenever you get into this part of the evening, you always have several means of tackling the problem. You can play it kind with a response like, "Oh, I'm sorry--I wish I could see you tomorrow but I've made plans with other people! What a shame!" Or you could let them know clearly that you're less than pleased with their advance, "I'll tell you what I'm NOT doing--seeing you, you lecherous fucker. So why don't you get your alcohol drenched ass out of my face so I can fucking breathe around people who look less like trolls and more like people who DESERVE to stand around something beautiful like me." However, with goodprovider, you are bound and guaranteed that you will never get any of these kinds of responses. With Joe looking on in amusement and Blonde Gay watching on in timid fear, I felt the pressure to really deliver something.
For some reason, the first thought in my brain is always the first one out of my mouth without fail. So I told, "Oh, I'm so sorry--I can't! I'm pregnant!"
People, I told him I was pregnant. What's great about this is that is shows how swiftly my brain moves to illogical explanations (remember the Cowbell Killer?). My brain doesn't even mess around with vaguely silly excuses like, "I'm getting my haircut" or "My sister's getting married." These are ridiculous but could potentially happen--Drunky Gay couldn't disprove my poor excuse if I used those. However, my brain, when forced with a choice, decided that pregnancy was going to be the excuse we were running with.
Immediately, everyone gets this bizarre look on their face like "What the...? Let's see where he goes with it," and my brain is just telling myself, "Just go with it. Sell it and maybe they'll believe you." So I continue.
"Yeah, I'm in my third trimester? Actually I'm in my ninth month and I'm due anyday now." He looks more than amused but I can tell that he WANTS to be amused. I also convince myself that rubbing my stomach will really sell it.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I mean, the doctor said I should just stay at home because my water could break any day."
"Oh, that's too bad."
"I really wish I could go out tomorrow night but you know how it is. I just gotta take care of the baby and get ready because you know, like I said, the water could just break at any minute. Fetuses first!"
He then left with his friend, saying it was a shame I couldn't hang out. The nice part about all this was that instead of him being embarrassed that he asked me and I rejected him, you could tell he was happy that I was the freak and not him. He had this look of amused disbelief that a gay man in a cowboy bar actually turned him down by saying he was pregnant.
Which, if my skills stay at that caliber, we're looking forward to a very long time of being single in Seattle. And, you guys? I promise I'm not lying when I say that's ok with me.
