All day Friday, Pookie harassed me about “just a couple of drinks” with her after work since the Monkeys were with their grandparents and we haven’t really had a whole lot of time to spend together with her move quickly creeping up on us. So, she picked me up before the sun had even gone down and we went to a cute little restaurant a few blocks away from my apartment. A bottle of Pinot Grigio later and we each had a new gay boyfriend. I know, I know, I have tried this before, but see, THIS time, my gay boyfriend HAS a boyfriend and is not trying to date ME. See how that works?
Anyway, we met because I, being the graceful, delicate, feminine specimen that I am, decided to try and flip our table over instead of just sliding into the booth with ease and class. I thought that the silverware would look much nicer on the floor. And I thought, “Hey, what better way to get everyone to stare at me that to create a ruckus?” It worked though. We grabbed the attention of N and G, who mercilessly made fun of me for the rest of the evening while we chatted over our wine and their crème brulee. Pookie and I, spending most of our time acting like gay men, really seem to attract them quite nicely. And I have to say, N and G are like the gay men equivalents of us. Our gay alter-egos. So, we scheduled another play date for a couple of weeks from now. Because Oh.My.God. I need some gayness in my life. It’s been too long. Too long.
By the time the bottle of wine was gone, it was time to head out again, for us and for them, so we picked up the JGJ and headed out to the regular bars. We went from the intimate dim lighting, white wine and crème brulee atmosphere, to one of smoke filled, “upside pinecake shooters”, and greasy French fries. You know, the one that we can afford to hang out in. Sometimes. When we’re really lucky.
Four shots, two rum and cokes, two bloody mary’s, a couple of beers, a whiskey sour and a partridge in a pear tree later, we were off for home...er… a party, rather. Pookie had insisted and insisted that we go and then, upon arrival, became very sleepy and developed an attitude which ranged anywhere, at any given time, from combative to comatose. Thus, re-earning her the nickname of “Miss Cranky Pants”.
Needless to say, Saturday consisted of sleep, then food, then some Margaret Cho, some more sleep, a headache, and then Danny Niblock and Bruce Baum. Who knew that you could play the drum solo from “In-a-gadda-da-vida” with just two paper bags and a microphone?
Hope this helps you with your boredom, B. Although…I highly doubt it.
Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Seether" - Veruca Salt