Archive for July, 2005

One night many years ago, my good friend Mike and I decided to go to Trax. Well, Mike decided to go and I decided to tag along. From what I heard, Trax was a great place to go cut a rug as it had four dance floors. One for techno, for trance, industrial and 80s. It was also a popular gay bar. Not that that matters, it just matters for the story.

Anyway, we got to Trax about 10:30 and proceeded to drink, dance and watch women. One interesting thing about gay bars; women are always at them. And, no, not lesbians–—straight women. Lesbians don’t tend to go to gay bars. Well, not male gay bars. I guess women feel safe as most straight guys stay out of gay bars for fear of catching teh ghey. Me, I’m a firm believer of it’s not where you are, it’s who you are with and the time you are having. If that means going to a gay bar, then so be it. Let’s party.

At one point or another during the evening, my buddy and I were out on the dance floor, cutting it up. Generally, if I’m into the cut, I am oblivious to everything else. So when the song ended, and the next one started, I suddenly realized three things.

My buddy was gone, the women were clearing the dance floor and the men were rushing to it.

Before I realized what was going on, I noticed my friend at the bar, a HUGE grin on his face. He tipped his beer to me and started laughing. I had no idea why.

Then it dawned on me.

The song.

It was the song.

It’s Raining Men. Halleluja..

By the time it hit me, it was too late to run off the dance floor without looking like a complete and utter ass.

Understand, this was my first time being surrounded by a swarm of gay men. I didn’t know what to do.

So I did what I thought was best.

I said fuck it, I’m in their house.

So I started to dance.

I was doing my thing when I suddenly realized someone was behind me. All up on me. Hands on my hips and having a time.

I turned around–—or danced around, as I didn’t want to make a scene. After all, I was the one on the dance floor at a gay bar when it was raining men (halleluja).

The hands never left me as I made my way around, and by the time I got a look at whose hands they were, I didn’t mind at all. No sir. Not one bit.

The person who was dancing with me was a smoking hot brunette in a red dress. A clingy red dress. And she was curvy. Oh, man, she was curvy and fine and hot and a woman.

And so we danced.

At the end of the song, I simply thanked her. I was pretty sure she knew what she was doing, and I was right.

She leaned up to me and said, “You know, you are a pretty good dancer, but you are obviously straight. Your friend may have bailed on you, but I wouldn’t.”

And she left.

That was it.

But that is okay. She made an uncomfortable situation comfortable, so if that was all she wanted to do, fuck it, who am I to argue.

I do wish I could have bought her a drink, though. Not to pick her up, but because of her cooltitude.

Rock on, sister.

Oh, and my friend was pissed off at her. He would have been able to bust my balls for years with this story, but he got nothing. Ha.

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There is a mental list I have of things I want to do before I die.

A lot of them I’ve already knocked out, but there are still some things I want to do, given the opportunity.

One of the things that’s been on “the list” for a good while is to drive cross country.

Well, last night I found out that I may be doing exactly that in September–on someone elses dime.

A buddy’s brother is in the military and he’s coming home. He wanted his car shipped from Hawaii to Maryland, but, for whatever reason, they couldn’t do it when he needed them to do it. So they told him they could ship it to California and he could drive it to Maryland. And they’d pay for meals, lodging and gas. He just has to do the drive in 9 days.

So my buddy’s brother called my buddy to see if he wanted to go. He said yeah. I asked if I could go. My buddy called me last night and said yeah, I could go.

The only thing I would have to pay for is my meals.

I’m ready to order my plane ticket to California now.

Fuck yeah.

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…the one on the orange line wearing the white tank-top and fanning herself.

You are absolutely stunning.

For the first time ever, I was happy to be riding a packed metro. It’s rare that I see a good looking woman on my line and you made up for all the bad ones.

Now, if you had shaked your ass to “Fire Woman”, you would have been perfect.

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1988. Junior year.

The class of 1990 is called to the gymnasium for an assembly–the reason for the assembly is irrelevant.

200 – 300 students chat with friends as they sit impatiently on the bleachers waiting for the assembly to start.

Assistant Vice Principal, Mr. Gibson, steps up to the podium and tries to get the students’ attention.

The students ignore him. That’s what kids do.

Mr. Gibson tries again.

Again, he’s ignored.

In anger, he yells, “If I don’t get your complete attention by the count of three, there’s going to be trouble!”

At two, the bleachers collapsed, taking the Class of 1990 with it.

That’s exactly how I remember it. I remember Mr. Gibson’s thread, I remember him starting the count, then, as if I blinked, people were running over me to get outside of the gym. One minute I was watching Mr. Gibson–blink–screaming kids running over me. I had two bleachers on my legs and a bleacher on my back.

Now, why they were running has always bothered me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s not like they were being chased, or there was a fire. What happened, happened–the danger was gone. Unless they thought the floor was going to collapse, too.

Me? After I scrambled out from under the bleachers on my legs, I walked out and found my friends waiting for me in the hallway. We went to the bathroom to grab a smoke since we figured the teachers would be busy with the situation at hand. Afterwards, we headed to the cafeteria as per the instructions from the voice in the overhead speakers. I guess they wanted to make sure everyone was accounted for. There was a lot of running, someone might not have stopped and ran right on home.

At the cafeteria, the word was out, there were TV crews at the hospital. Kids were getting interviewed by the local news. Rumor had it that CNN was even there. Lucky bastards, I thought.

Soon enough, we were herded into the auditorium for another assembly. I’m fairly certain the topic for the first one was postponed. This one was to calm the students, or at least inform them what’s going on. After a bunch of “blah, blah, blahs” from the administration, I heard the magic words. “If anyone is hurt, or feeling any pain AT ALL, you should go to the hospital to get checked out.”

That’s all I needed. I stood up and started to go to up to the front. My buddy grabbed my arm and said, “Where are you going, you’re not hurt.”

“Yeah, but there are cameras at the hospital. I could get on TV.”

I faked a limp and headed to where some other students were gathering.

My folks were called and my dad met me at the hospital. I was fitted with a neckbrace and my dad and I were sent to a room where I would wait for the doctor. Before the doctor arrived, a reporter and a cameraman came in the room and asked my dad if it was okay to film. My dad said it was up to me, and I said sure thing.

Long story short, I got interviewed by two reporters (I got hit by another one on the way out of the hospital) and made two stations (Fox 5 and CBS).

But the best part was the lead in on Fox. It opened with a shot on the doctor checking me for damage, then the reporter’s voice comes over “Stewie Redrum was in the thick of it.”

Cut to my interview.

Yeah, me faking an injury to get on TV was probably not very cool, but, like most everything else in my life, I have no regrets.

It was worth it.

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Caught this over on Mero’s blog.

———————————————————————————————
I asked the fabulous and fascinating Merovingienne to interview me. I will answer the questions shortly, but first, I am contractually obligated to explain the rules to this inquisitive round-robin.

Here are the instructions:

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “Interview me.” “Blow me” or “Eat me” are not acceptable substitutes.

2. I will respond by asking you five questions – each person’s will be different. I’ll post the questions in the comments section of this post.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post on your blog.

5. When others comment, asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

———————————————————————————————
Merovingienne’s questions…

1.You have the opportunity to take revenge on someone who has wronged you personally. Who do you pick and what do you do to ’em?

The kid who throw the stick in my eye when I was 7. Granted, he was a kid, but he grew up into a punk. Last I heard he was in the pokey.

I’d blind him.

2.You are granted the wish of one superpower, your pick. What do you pick and why?

The ability to stop time. The fun I could have with that one.

If I had to use a superpower for good, however, it would be time travel. Then I could go back in time and do whatever I can to save great shows like Miami Vice and Knight Rider from going off the air. Oh, and I would kill the producers of reality tv. That would benefit all of us.

3. If you had to be married (with all that marriage entails) to a male celebrity, who would the lucky guy be?

Robert De Niro or Samual Jackson. Both are bad motherfuckers. I’d withhold sex, kissing and all other shows of affection, too, so I don’t know how long the marriage would last.

4. You get to change the ending of any movie you want. Which movie do you pick, and what is the new ending?

Chasing Amy. Up until that dreadful scene at the end, the movie is damn near perfect.

I would cut out the whole “talk” scene Holden has with Banky and Alyssa. I’d keep the last 3 minutes that immediately follows that scene.

5. You’ve mentioned being attracted to women who are unattainable. What makes them unattainable?

Oh hell, tough question. I know what the answer is, but I don’t know how to answer it without getting too personal.

Generally, however, I always seem to develope a mutual attraction with women who either are already in a relationship, live in an area that it just wouldn’t work or are mentally unobtainable (meaning issues).

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