I was in love with this girl named Bonnie. She had little apples on her chest. Long brunette hair. Hair with bangs that feathered back just like they were supposed to in the seventies. She was in one of my classes and she was always so sweet to me and she moved her hair around just like Jan Brady did. Sigh.
I asked her if she wanted to meet me at the fair and she smiled and said yes. I could have swooned.
I had a date! Yay! I'll bet that will fix everything!
We agreed to meet at the corner of the pavillion nearest the Lions Club booth. My heart sank when I saw that she was with about five of her girl friends. I had wanted to hold her hand or do whatever they did. I didn't have the guts to do that in front of all those mean leering teenage girls.
That wasn't much of an issue anyway, as soon as I got near them they started talking and walking toward the midway.
Bonnie said, "Hi we're going to the rides," and followed her friends.
What to you do? I started following. Bonnie and I made small talk for a few moments. Then her friends started walking faster. And so did she.
I started walking faster to keep up. The faster I went, the faster they went, turning their heads, flinging their long feathering hair, chagrined to see me keeping pace and going ever faster until they were practically trotting.
Then, they stopped, huddled, and the more pragmatic of the group approached me, wearing a bandana halter top, smoking a Marlboro Red, "Walter, we're gonna go meet up with some guys."
"What? What am I?"
She just chuckles in her way too low for a ninth grade girl voice and saunters back to the huddle, says something to the girls whereupon they all laugh, even sweet, sweet Bonnie, take a merry look in my general direction and practically skip away, to the beer gardens.
I was so bummed. I went and traded my puca shell necklace to a senior for some beer.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
garden party 1989
My boyfriend wanted me to go. He had his roommate, supposedly a costume designer with the San Francisco Opera, make me a rhinestone bustier. Boyfriend himself, an actor, even put on my make-up, picked out and touseled my long red wig and wrapped me up, naked from the waist down, with a whole roll of Saran Wrap. Then he told me guys in drag turned him off.
That guy was a total bastard.
He refused to go into the party with me. "I don't want to go to no drag party, I'll just drive over to the bar and wait for ya."
So I went to the party without my date. He sat on his ass at the Venture-N and drank gin and tonic using cash he got from writing a hot check on my account.
That guy was totally hot. I feel I should say that.
After the Garden party I rode with some friends to Venture-N and there was hot bastard boyfriend. Drunk. With a trick.
I was horrified. I did all the stupid queeny things a young inexperienced gay man does. I begged him to talk to me, cajoled, got angry and tried to order him. Nothing is more ridiculous than a really angry man in drag trying to be butch during an argument. I finally realized this and threw my mug of beer into his face and fled the bar followed by one of my friends.
Then I had to go back in and ask him for my keys.
I ran out to my truck in the parking lot where he had parked it and got in to drive away. But it was a stick shift and that damn Saran Wrap mini skirt was too tight. I got out of the truck and tried to pull it off but I was all sweaty and it was stuck fast. Then I tried to rip it off but it was a whole roll and that shit is strong.
I burst into tears. In the parking lot. On Main Street. In drag.
My friend came to the rescue. He found the end of the Saran Wrap and, with a volume and tone only a true fellow traveler can project in such times, screamed, "Spin sister, spin!" I threw up my hands and spun like Ann Miller. He started laughing and so did I. By the time that Saran Wrap was off I was fine. Naked from the waist down on Main Street in full face, but laughing at least.
We got into the truck, went to my place so I could wash my face and get on some jeans and a tee shirt.
Then we went to Marys...naturally
That guy was a total bastard.
He refused to go into the party with me. "I don't want to go to no drag party, I'll just drive over to the bar and wait for ya."
So I went to the party without my date. He sat on his ass at the Venture-N and drank gin and tonic using cash he got from writing a hot check on my account.
That guy was totally hot. I feel I should say that.
After the Garden party I rode with some friends to Venture-N and there was hot bastard boyfriend. Drunk. With a trick.
I was horrified. I did all the stupid queeny things a young inexperienced gay man does. I begged him to talk to me, cajoled, got angry and tried to order him. Nothing is more ridiculous than a really angry man in drag trying to be butch during an argument. I finally realized this and threw my mug of beer into his face and fled the bar followed by one of my friends.
Then I had to go back in and ask him for my keys.
I ran out to my truck in the parking lot where he had parked it and got in to drive away. But it was a stick shift and that damn Saran Wrap mini skirt was too tight. I got out of the truck and tried to pull it off but I was all sweaty and it was stuck fast. Then I tried to rip it off but it was a whole roll and that shit is strong.
I burst into tears. In the parking lot. On Main Street. In drag.
My friend came to the rescue. He found the end of the Saran Wrap and, with a volume and tone only a true fellow traveler can project in such times, screamed, "Spin sister, spin!" I threw up my hands and spun like Ann Miller. He started laughing and so did I. By the time that Saran Wrap was off I was fine. Naked from the waist down on Main Street in full face, but laughing at least.
We got into the truck, went to my place so I could wash my face and get on some jeans and a tee shirt.
Then we went to Marys...naturally
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