Before I describe last night, let me tell you that I still have a hangover, and it’s 4:32PM.
Actually, I’m only going to describe the last few hours of last night, which were spent at Rudyards. About 12 or 13 of us met up there after playing pool elsewhere. The place (Rudz) is set up in such a way that you can’t really find room for that many people to sit or stand together. We tried anyway, and squeezed into an empty table and a table with a couple of “women” sitting at it. I say “women” because one most definitely is a woman, and one is still in the process of becoming a woman. I know this because I’ve seen the second one before at a bar on Washington. She was sitting two stools over from me at Dark Horse one night (in a converted space that Robert and I almost rented a few years ago to live in the back and put on theatre in the front) (ah, youth). Her transformation has affected some things – her ears feature earrings, she seems to have the slight tits of a fat man (though she is thin), I don’t know about down under. But one thing that for sure isn’t done yet is the voice. Still a booming man’s voice. I mean, I’ve got no issue with the change, it’s just that until you figure out what the deal is, it freaks you out a little to hear that voice coming from a woman.
As I’ve mentioned before, I have a way of running into the same random people, over and over again. Guess I have to have a conversation with her before she’ll go away. Couldn’t have the conversation last night because some random guy, Terry, who was so coked up he couldn’t keep his jaw still, wanted to do all the talking. Seems he’s been everywhere as a “merchant marine.” “Yeah, I spent some time in Europe – you know, Singapore.” Uh, yeah, dude. Singapore. Europe. He then repeated about ten times that he was really ready to settle down, he’d had enough of the seas and travelling everywhere and he didn’t necessarily need the white picket fence but you know, man, blah blah blah. I have a pretty good bullshit/danger meter, and it started going off before he even opened his mouth. So I needed to get the fuck away from him before things turned ugly. We, all 12 or 13 of us, moved outside.
Being outside at Rudz on a late Friday night drunk is its own entertainment. The good thing about where we were is I could see my car. That’s a favorite pasttime of mine – to be able to keep an eye on my car when I’m out. Not in a “it’s running my life” kind of way – more in a “I’m a bit OCD and like to make sure no one’s getting into my shit” kind of way. Same diff, I know. We were able to watch the goth girls skating on their four-wheeled roller skates. We were able to watch the midget dressed like a GI Joe cowboy (I’m not kidding – he was in jeans and boots and a cowboy hat with a camo shirt) bounce from person to person because he was so drunk, yet so little. We were able to watch the merchant latrine walk back and forth to the parking lot, the bar next door, the convenience store on the other side, etc. I’m sure he was just looking for someone to settle down with but not necessarily for a picket fence.
The time seemed right for me to tell the pedophile joke I heard recently. Look, I think pedophilia and fucking with old people are pretty much two of the worst crimes in the world, but I can laugh at a good joke, too. Of course, I tell the joke to someone who works for a women’s shelter, someone who used to do legislative work for related cases, and some other chick who generally laughs at things but seems to have a slightly classier sense of humor than I do. My sense of humor can appreciate cleverly written satire, but it can also dig a good shit joke. And keep in mind that the jury I served on a few months ago was for a case involving a pedophile and I had a hard time not running out of the jury box to kick his ass. But this joke is fucking funny. I tell it. Wait for the response. Crickets. Then pained smiles.
Can’t win ’em all. Gotta pick your audience, sometimes.
Oh, and I loved the Macbeth quote on the door of the ladies room – Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under ‘t.