Catch-22 [Thankful for the Fools]

Before I get into this story, I have to state that yesterday was my friend Sarah's birthday. At her party- there was drinking, dancing, drunk tweetin, cake eating, and someone brought a pack of those temporary wet-on tattoos. So we're all pretty hammered and somewhere in the mix, either I or someone else decides to give me a tramp stamp.I get one of roses, stems and a heart in the middle and a little fairy on the end.


Lately, my friends have been trying to hook me up with a girl. I'm beginning to think any girl will do... I think they're just tired of seeing me grow colder as the days go past. I'm not making this up my friend Jamie actually said, "I can't wait until you find a girlfriend so that you can become the you were when [enter The Constant's name here] was around" Which I don't really understand but whatever. So I'm hanging out with this girl, fighting the fiercest hangover from Sarah's party. This was my third time out with the girl, I wasn't in particular finding any signs that this relationship would prosper- especially on this particular date where we just kicked it back at her apartment watching a movie along with the surprisingly great dinner she cooked. We were making casual conversation when the topic of past boyfriends popped up.
Now she's a pretty trendy girl, I knew this from date two when she decided that I was over due a whole day spent at the mall revamping my attire. I argued I'm not trendy, and I actually enjoy my individuality. She's used to the skinny jeans guys, the 365 scarf guys, the earring guys, all the things that guys are doing nowadays that would've gotten me an all expense paid ass kicking from my father.

So anyway, after hearing a buncha stories about her exes, which included such acts as spending the night over his male friend's house while all three slept in the same bed... and one of her ex-boyfriend's once took her shopping and gives her excellent makeup advice since they both were interested in modeling. It just seemed with each story her taste seemed more and more... metrosexu- fuck that, gay.
I even commented using that term- in that exact sense. It's a frequent colloquiallism to do that, not that I am a gay basher, I actually enjoy the company of a couple of my gay friends...(while the others, I wish would lose my number) I just wouldn't protest with them. It's their war, not mine. [Here comes the hate mail.] She decides to give me the third degree about my choice of words, and how I'm an ignorant right wing minded person. I did not defend these terms- due to I feel I shouldn't explain accusations that aren't true. Now these exes probably aren't homosexual.. not even questioning that. It's just those actions are kinda feminine. End of story.
So the conversation ends, and we're eating...I'm commenting on her great Mc and Cheese. She enjoys the praise... and then we're half an hour into "Zack and Miri Make A Porno" when we're making out.
Then. I'm taking my shirt off. Then. She sees my temp tattoo.
She stops...pushes away, and then asks me with a slightly disgusted face...

"Eww. Are you gay?"
"No."
"Hmm. Well... I'm kinda uncomfortable...so let's just watch the movie"
I can't win for losing.

"Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the rest of us could not succeed." -Mark Twain

Left Behind [So Learned]

During a recent Twitter conversation I had, I was reminded of an event that occurred two years ago that lead to my current opinion of sororities. Come with me down memory lane.

I was working the bar at Union Station in D.C., and anyone who knows D.C. and works in hospitality in union Station knows our dreadful seasons, Summertime. Abortion Protest. and the Annual AKA convention. (Why do the AKA's standout, you ask? Well, because they are the most festive, infamous and notorious... or whatever adjectives you want to throw in there...the most likely reason though is that they do enjoy their dinner parties.)

So a party of 15, young, fresh of the initiation block, AKA's come strolling in the door in their salmon pink, mint green and aura'ed highs and physical lows. They speak well, they sit well, they know their salad fork.They are SO civilized... TO EACH OTHER. To their server however, all except 4 of them are extremely rude and demanding. I have been working here for a while. I was used to this behavior. They are so rude, that I decided to step in, an ensure everything went smoothly- because the server was new... and I didn't want this one bad experience jade her forever.
Silly requests like, hot ketchup... and crushed ice, a pack of napkins, diced tomatoes... three extra baskets of bread, the works.
Luckily everything went smoothly... and they were served and pleased. If they had issues they kept it within themselves at the table... and then their bill came... all $276.89 of it. I decided to tell the girl not to add the 18% gratuity..we usually add to a party that large. On the argument, that these were classy broads that are all about the image they project. "They would be appreciative of all you did for them." I argued. They left an astonishing $290.00 (which we had to figure out, after the bill was split 16 ways. ... and one of them left their purse.

It took about 7 minutes, but Jiminy Cricket finally kicked in. And there I was was running down the terminal of the Amtrak frantically looking for the young airhead that left her purse behind. Like a light at the end of the tunnel, there they were at the taxi stand... laughing, joking, in their own world. As they huddle in groups and begin cramming into cabs I call out to them the only way I can.
"Hey girl, ma'am- HEY!" I'm screaming this as I finally reach one of the girls and grab her shoulder from behind.
SHE GOES THE FUCK OFF.
She begins sassing me about how she has a name, and don't put my hands on her, and she got a boyfriend and she wasn't interested in me because I wasn't her type... all to the acoustic soundtrack of her friends laughing in the background. So...as I catch my breath, I decide... to just... drop the purse on the ground and walk away. I re-enter Union Station... leaving behind the "oohhhs" and empty thank yous.

And I say all that to say, yeah I was mad. But I didn't let that experience ruin my perspective about the AKAs...well actually it did, but my neighbor's apart of the AKA's and she's kick ass. There are also four other women I know that are the pillar of that community...
So I guess the point is, don't let one bad apple ruin the bunch. That goes for people that are always saying things like black people don't tip, all men are dogs, all white folks smell like wet dog when they're wet, or all gay people like pink. Well...wait all gay people do like pink. Some doesn't equal all in this life ladies and gentlemen, that's a fact. If you truly believe that it does, then you are just as ignorant as the folk you're downing. And that's bad.

I'm just playing. All gays don't like pink. ...but they do come from France.

"He was so learned that he could name a horse in nine languages; so ignorant that he bought a cow to ride on." -Benjamin Franklin