bar

I walked to an ad on the train platform — a picture of an old woman with smeared lipstick, spiky drunk hair, holding a glass of liquor and a cigarette. She wore flashy clothes too young for her wrinkled personage, and she was dancing. The caption: Crazy Old Aunties Deserve to Die. Why I’m of this ilk. I’ve written about it mmm hmm, in this blog. Crazy ‘ol Auntie Sandee, the middle-aged death metalist, alcoholic. Me and the poor old woman in this poster — people just don’t understand! The ad was an off beat anti-smoking campaign. Generally they were saying people make excuses when it comes to smoking. But I quit smoking — quit the same time I quit drinking. Considering the circumstances it was a wise decision.

A long time ago Crazy ‘ol Auntie Sandee went to the bar and met a boy quite a few years younger. From the Canary Islands. We talked and talked and talked. He leaned over and in his Spanish accent said, “I want to kiss you.” Yeah, yeah, so I made out with him in the bar loosey goosey, whatever. All I remember is waking up alone to discover that I had apparently had safe sex with someone. Twice. I threw the condom wrappers away and went to work, recalling vaguely saying the night before, ‘Oooo, that’s niiice.”

A day later I get a call. “Hello Sandee.” It was the Spaniard! “I have no idea what happened here the night before. Why don’t we meet at the diner so you can tell me what happened and then I can see what you look like too.” I recalled a handsome young devil but I was drunk. I needed to know.

He was a handsome young devil on some kind of a work visa. He would be leaving in a month. He was studying to become a lawyer — I had sex with him. In a blackout. I wasn’t present, wasn’t there, didn’t get to experience this because I was in a blackout. This made no sense. I stopped drinking immediately. Crazy ‘ol Aunties do indeed deserve to die when they deprive themselves of being present to experience having sex with handsome young men with European accents.

I said in Le Clown’s comments that I dated a chick with a dick, and he and Jennifer Worrell said I should write about it – thanks guys for suggesting the material – here it goes:

[First, let me deconfuse you – I refer to Beverly in this story as Beverly, him/her, he/she, he, she, him, her – they’re all the same tranvestite.]

I went out with a chick with a dick – what?! We met in the Tiki Bar or whatever the fuck the name of that place was. We talked for the longest. Though the bar was dark, this was clearly a man dressed like a woman — long blonde wig, white head band, tasteful muted dress cut slightly above the knee, and white go go boots. He/she was a white man, about 6’ 2”. Beverly hipped me to the fact that he was just a man who liked to wear women’s clothes, but that he liked women and didn’t want a sex change. We flirted with each other because I loves me a man dressed up in women’s clothes. I told him/her that I wanted my ex-boyfriend to dress like a woman but he said hell to the no! I think always of that sexy Tim Curry in the movie version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

We left the Tiki Bar or whatever the fuck it was called, and went to the Cancun Bar. He/she asked if he could kiss me at that bar. We sat at a small table. Hells yeah! Wow! Beverly the man was the shit! Beverly was the best kisser! I met him/her another time at the Tiki Bar and I got soooooooo plastered, that he/she said I should take a cab home. I slurred my address to Beverly and she told the driver and poured me into the yellow cab.

He/she called the next day and we made a date to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I would have liked if we kissed on those big stairs where all the students and tourists like to hang out. But Beverly couldn’t make it as it turned out. I forget what happened to him her. This was quite a while ago and I was drunk. I wanted to have sex with him/her and write about it and/or tell alllllll my friends. I told my relatives at Christmas dinner last year about this — including one of my favorite Aunties who’s a minister – well all my aunties are my favorite – anyway, they didn’t judge me and they did laugh and ask lots of questions, which I liked, seeing as I could provide the x-mas entertainment and all.