dates 2

Randy always sat at my bar and wouldn’t leave the whole night. Even after I got off duty he would stay and watch me leave. After months of begging me to go out to dinner with him, I agreed. Should I have been surprised to find out he was four foot seven inches. I was okay with it, surprised but okay with it. When he asked the waiter for a phone book because he couldn’t reach the salt in the middle of the table, I was still okay with it. When he told me I was insensitive for ordering shrimp cocktail as an appetizer, I understood why he thought that and assured him that it was an insensitive, but unintentional action. (Not that it stopped him from eating two of the three shrimp that I received.) My breaking point came when I asked a simple question, one that everyone asks someone they are having dinner with, “What do you do for a living?”
I spit out my wine when he replied that he tested horse piss at the racetrack for drugs. “See, I stand there and wait for them to piss and stick a pole in it for samples. Sometimes it takes them a long time to piss, but I get paid by the hour. I just hate when they shit before they piss. Ever smell horse crap? I’m used to it by now, but in the beginning I would just throw up right there, on the spot.”
The glass of wine turned into a double Absolut, straight up. Needless to say, we skipped dessert and headed to the bar. Whenever I have a bad date I go to the bar and try to lose them there. For a midget he had staying power. No matter how many times I tried to lose him, he just clung to my leg and went with me. Like gum on the bottom of my shoe, he would not get off me. He was so proud to have a date with a bartender.
Of course his friends looked like a who’s who of who to avoid in a bar. The guy who only drinks tap water, the guy who never tips-but wants strong drinks! Finally I had to tell him that he was just too good for me and deserved better. He agreed!
He asked for a goodnight kiss and risking a back cramp, I gave him one. As my little date got lost in the crowd, which wasn’t hard, I realized that I got what I always wanted—a fairy tale date. I was Snow White and he was my dwarf.
Morgan took me to a Broadway opening in the rain, should I have been surprised to find that the usher was his ex? After we were seated he explained that he had “issues” he had to clear up with his ex. By intermission they were lip-locked; by the end of the play they were going to give it one more try. Morgan gave me a hug and said, “I knew you would understand…” and “could you leave me the umbrella” and I did! As I stood, drenched, on the platform of the “A” train I got the feeling that this wasn’t what love was suppose to be about.
Woody had a plastic leg and would snap it off to show people at the bar how easily it came off. Mike’s idea of foreplay was farting the Star Spangle Banner and impressed himself when he didn’t stain the sheets, Don asked if his ex could watch us have sex. Pete had four personalities and would order each of them a drink at the bar. Mark likes to jerk off in public elevators. I drop him a letter every now and then in the state jail surveillance cameras. Tommy’s good-night kiss would include me doing him a favor, buying his wife and kids Christmas presents, birthday presents and “Just because” presents. I could go on for pages, but why bother.
Why are the worst dates the most memorable?
That is when “My Johnny Angel” entered my life! Oh, the fantasy of my life! Johnny Angel was the spitting image of a young Michael Landon, my grandmother’s favorite actor. I swore she sent him to me. I became obsessed with him. Obsessed in a nice way, not the psychotic way. Although I did hand sew a sequin Christmas stocking for him. But, I never followed him or stalked him. If fact, if he was in the bathroom I would run out—usually into the door. If he spoke to me, I’d get so nervous I’d have to run into the bathroom and throw up. If he didn’t come into the bar, I’d stand around like a widow in mourning and if he did show up I’d run around avoiding him. He got the nickname “Johnny Angel” because everyone knew I liked him, except him. My love for him went on for years. It took two years, but I found my courage to let him know how I felt about him. When I told him how I felt he informed me that I was too faggy for him and that there were many people he would be impressed by, but I wasn’t one of them. So much for grandma sending me a replacement love.
When I lost my friend Kenny to AIDS I realized that I put so much energy into these men that I didn’t appreciate the shoulder he always provided for my tears. Maybe you’re not supposed to replace the love that you lose, maybe you’re suppose to learn from it. Dreaming of Johnny Angel kept me safe from sleeping around. While everyone else was sweating the results from blood tests, I had no fear because the men I wanted didn’t want me. One of the last things Kenny said to me was how lucky I was, and I was lucky. I never realized that in a “straight acting gay lifestyle”, choosing the wrong men saved my life and picking a “faggy acting” friend enhanced it.
till tomorrow...be kind