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September 08, 2005
"President Bush Does Not Care About Black People."
When J and I entertain, strange things almost always go down.
It might have to do with the intermingling of such a different group of people. My hot gay TV show host friend Will from Big Brother comes over with my other hot gay model friend (straight up on the cover of OUT Magazine looking ridiculously smoking) – they’re best friends. My other guest is visiting from LA on business but has popped in to say hello, and she’s this really sweet girl that’s into The Bravery. She eats these violet candies, she loves the MySpace and she never leaves the house without red polish on her nails. Oh, and she’s Mormon. Interesting little flavor crystals for you.
J’s guests include all of his childhood friends that have evolved into super interesting people. Like the guy who is tattooed all over his body but does a hard business suit type of job. You’d never guess there is a dragon swallowing his back and whipping its tail around on his butt – which my two gay guy friends and I were totally mouth-open looking at like what the fuck is going on here. I don’t think there is an inch of un-inked flesh left, but he looks so business-y in the face. It’s fascinating for some reason. Most of J’s friends have an assortment of tattoos. They live in Diesel jeans, but not because they are hipsters, but because their one friend is like the bomb regional important crazy Diesel man and he puts all his crew in the brand like 75% off. Even J wears those jeans when he’s not in the basketball shorts. I, however, cannot wear the jeans as my butt is just too bubbly and round. Those jeans have a way of making me look totally dumpy. They are not ass jeans. They’re tall, lanky people jeans.
So the tattooed friends all have very interesting jobs. One is a toy designer for Nickelodeon. He’s bald with an intense black beard and if he put an eye patch on, he’d be a scary pirate. One is a redhead who breaks his “edge” every day. He used to be straight edge, but now he’s not. He used to be vegetarian but at my birthday party he broke his “veg edge” with a gigantic steak. Red is downright hilarious. Fool can’t keep his money together so he got a dollar sign with wings tattooed on the palm of his hand. Another friend is a drummer with a really dry sense of humor. He was wearing a hat that said “I Love My Vagina” and when someone came up to him and said, “I love your vagina too,” he coldly said, “I’ve heard that a dozen times already…” One is a musician slash alarm system installer that loves dim sum and always smells really good. The Diesel man dates this model with amazing skin. She walks in and I can’t stop staring at her.
At one point, I had no choice but to pull her aside and say,
“Your skin is fucking luminous!” Then I launch into a billion questions. According to her, it will take TEN glasses of water a day plus daily yoga. Models, man. I can’t just morph into mother fucking Madonna overnight. I don’t think I have the discipline. This Obagi system is coming along nicely though. If I could drink the water and get my monkey ass up to exercise, I could glow. I could turn on the magic of colored lights.
Then J and I have our mutual friends. J’s business partner who is absolutely brilliant. I truly believe he’ll invent the next thing that changes the world like Google. He’s smart like that. He’s got a story all his own. He only eats foods that are goldish yellow to brown. No green. No red. Grilled cheese. Plain burgers, no cheese, no ketchup, not even salt. He’s very picky. Then, he’s got this girlfriend, Gigi. She’s got perfectly placed golden freckles. She’s a school teacher. She has a New York accent big time. And she’s one of those high achievers. She does the tennis lessons, the Jazzercise, the beach, the lesson plans – all in the same day. She’s also been to like 98 weddings in four months. She’s a multi-tasker like that. She loves Six Feet Under as much as I do. Will called us the company wives which I rather like.
Well, actually I really like all of J’s friends and I might even call them my own. I think I can do that now. I always decide whether or not a person is a true friend by the fact that I am comfortable asking for a ride to the airport and confident that this person will say yes. I think all of these people might take me to the airport. Maybe not the tattooed business man, but certainly most of the others.
So J received some bad news on Friday and he said he didn’t want to sulk. So he said, “Babe, we’re having a barbeque on Sunday. Call your friends…”
Every time we entertain it’s on short notice. There’s something inside of J that makes him want to do everything at a frantic pace. I’m no Martha Stewart, but I do enjoy entertaining. So by Friday night, I’m pulling out all the cute serving dishes and seeing which ones look prettiest side by side. I’m the bitch sitting there connecting the round balls of cheese to the round baby tomato for twenty minutes up until the exciting climax of pouring the vinaigrette on top. That’s fun to me.
I’m also really bossy. J’s jobs include: mopping the pool room floor, placing trash cans in the appropriate places in such a way that they don’t look ugly and making sure the pH and temperature in the pool is cool. Those are the light duties because you know, he’s going to be slaving over that grill. I take on all the real details like cleanliness of the house, ice, drinks (I bought the Magic Bullet off the TV and wow!), presentation, flowers, candles, introductions, dessert duty and making sure Paco isn’t humping anyone’s legs.
Because I’m self-involved, the highlight of the impromptu BBQ, of course, has to do with me.
First of all, there were about 14 guys and only four girls, including myself. This makes the whole pool thing a whole lot more devastating. Now, J wanted to heat the pool up quickly so the night before, he’d set the thermostat to 104 degrees thinking the pool could never get that hot if he ran it all night. Oh, the pool gets that hot. J is weird with the heating of things. I asked for one boiled egg the other day and he put 9 eggs on the stove on the highest heat imaginable and wondered why the whites were busting out the shell. Dude…
So the pool was crazy hot, but the tattooed boys were like fuck it and got in anyway.
It’s nice getting in but after ten minutes, you’re sweating. I like the steam, personally, but I was having a conversation with myself about how exactly to get in the pool if the other girls didn’t. Gigi had a cold so she wasn’t even trying to be in pool area which was totally humid. The model with the luminous skin thought it was too hot so she wasn’t even trying to get up in there. Trying to be a nice hostess, I had taken my LA friend, the night before, to this place called MisShapes because I thought she’d like it. It’s not my thing exactly, but I knew she’d have a good time and probably know a bunch of people there so I made sure she had a ride home and I entrusted her life and safety with Gay Cock Suck (see: Wear Your Roller Skates Today) for the evening so that I could leave. So because she didn’t get in until 6 in the morning, she spent most of the BBQ napping upstairs. She’s totally not getting into the pool.
I finally just made a decision. Fuck it. I’m getting in the pool. Besides, I knew Will was going to be in there in his Battle of the Network Reality Stars Speedo so that would be the reassurance that I needed.
I excused myself to change into my bathing suit, and this is where shit gets retarded.
Two weeks ago, J had removed the door knob from our bedroom door because it kept sticking. We tried to get a locksmith up in here to replace the knob, but it’s not a normal knob. This house was built 98 million years ago and it’s a vintage knob so it’s not like you can just find it at Home Depot. J is unwilling to change the knob to a modern knob because that would fuck up the integrity of the vintage vibe of the all the doors in the house. I understand that, so I’ve just been reminding myself not to shut the door all the way because you’ll get locked in. As a matter of fact, Friday morning, J locked us in on accident and before I could even panic, he pulled out a pair of scissors and MacGuyver’d us out of there.
So, yeah, I excuse myself to change into my bikini. Yes, the tiny one from Brasil that is so not hot anymore because I gained some weight. But like I care. It’s Big Brother Will and some tattooed insane people. Nobody is trippin’ off little old me, so with my adorably ugly little gut, I put that suit on with very little shame. Now, there’s just one thing. I shut the door all the way. I heard the knob click and immediately I was like –
FUCK STICKS.
I changed into the suit first. Then I started to panic. I dug in the top drawer for J’s handy little scissors but they weren’t there anymore. Why? I had used them downstairs to open this gigantic bag of frozen strawberries. Okay, think.
I paced the room a couple times thinking of what to do next. I know…
I’ll just call J on the home phone from my cell phone. Wrong. My cell phone is downstairs because I left it on the kitchen counter after I picked Will and the hot gay model up from the train station. Well, I’ll just use the home phone and call J’s cell. That boy lives for his cell phone. It’s on his body at all times. But that won’t be happening either because the home phone is downstairs too. With a bunch of house guests, phones get moved around.
Well, shit almighty.
I opened the window facing the front of the house and started to yell for J. He’s on the side of the house at the grill though. So I’m screaming my head off, calling him over and over again. He can’t hear me because the stereo is playing Men at Work loud as hell. He plays Men at Work every day around here. I’m getting sick of it. I wish he’d go back to his New Edition thing but that only led us to that Bobby Brown Ghostbusters song EVERY DAY. Watching him get totally into rapping the part about the slime being under the building – insane. So I guess I’ll take Men at Work, but seriously, come on.
Twenty minutes pass and no one is looking for the most extraordinary hostess ever – me.
I sat on the edge of the bed racking my brain. Should I just stay in here and wait until someone notices I’m not at my own barbecue? No, because now my feelings are starting to get hurt. No one even cares. I could cue up Mommie Dearest right now and watch the whole thing and no one would even notice I was gone.
I look out of the windows that face the back of the house to see if I can clear the space from my bedroom to the roof that is above the pool. Damn, that shit looks far. If I break my legs, I’ll be so upset. If I lost a porcelain tooth, somebody will die tonight. By choking.
Finally, I decided to TEAR UP THE ROOM for some kind of tool to stick in the lock. I rearranged a hanger. Nope. I tried to stick the end of a pair of heels that I don’t really like that much anymore in there. Nope. I tried to stick my cuticle nipper in the thing but I really like that tool and it’s so not worth damaging it. It’s $18 to replace so no.
I emptied J’s underwear drawer looking for tools. He always puts random things in his drawer. I found an empty Girl Scouts cookie box. So he did eat all the Lemon Pastry Cremes. I found a porn DVD called Oficinas de Putas – um, what the fuck? (He later claimed some homeless man gave it to him on the streets of Manhattan.) I found a cable bill – damn, we don’t even have Showtime. That’s a huge bill. Finally, I found some old keys.
I started sticking all the keys into the door but none fit. I had one key left to try and boom, it fit. I was in my own bad movie. The last key fit? I struggled. My hands were getting greasy from the sweat so I had to put a sock on my hand and then yes, jackpot baby (yes I just said that, it’s better than calling out Yahtzee), the door opened.
I gathered my little self and went back down to the party.
In the pool, the tattooed business man started showing off all his tattoos. This required him to lift his shorts up really high to expose an entire buttock and Will was straight up intrigued. He may have even floated over to get a better look. Full on bare ass cheeks were in the pool. I must admit though, his tattoos all together were just phenomenal. His body is a huge giant piece of artwork so much so that I wasn’t even looking at his butt like that. I mean, I don’t think I’m an ass person anyway. I like eyes and clean hands, really. Who cares what I like?
The tattooed business man made all the other tattooed boys look like they were just drunken sorority girls with dice and butterfly tats and the vibe started to get all uncomfortable. Nobody wants to be upstaged in the world of tattoos. That just sucks because there’s nothing you can do about it. It’d be like if I were sitting next to Angelina Jolie and everyone started talking about how hot her lips were. I have full lips as well, but come on, she’s smoking hot gorgeous insane-o having nasty time every night with Brad Pitt so what do I really have to offer here?
Just as we were all starting to ooh and aah at the business man’s tattoos, Red busts out with this amazing story of his most amazing tattoo ever only to reveal a fucking banana with eyes on his inner thigh. It was hilarious. You had to be there.
You probably had to be there too, to fully enjoy Will Big Bro's fantastical (not a word) rendition of meeting the tattooed man upon chance at a bar in that suited up Wall Street area and thinking the man is a conservative nine-to-fiver only to find out later, in a heated make-out session that he was tatted up and about to attack him like a jackal. Jackal being Will's choice word. A jackal though, Will?
And this has nothing to do with the barbecue, but it’s a good story nonetheless.
A day after the BBQ, J and I were on the Lower East Side picking up a dress from the tailor’s. We were waiting in the car and suddenly J noticed two huge dudes staring at us as they stood on the sidewalk a couple feet away. J proceeded to talk on his cell phone, but then he started to get annoyed as the dudes were still staring at us. Well, they were staring at me. I was looking crazy, putting eyeliner on and shit so I was making the gross putting eyeliner on face. The dudes just kept staring and looking like they were having a conversation about me. Hand gestures and pointing and everything. Not to toot my own horn, but it was like they thought I was cute. Toot toot.
So J puts his hands up in the air gesturing to them a sort of “what the fuck” signal. Just then, the dudes start coming toward the car. Did I mention they were huge? Now J isn’t the tallest or toughest dude I’ve ever seen. Put it like this – J’s Dudley Moore and the dudes were like Bubba Sparks and Heavy D. So, I look at J like, “NOW WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!” and J is trying to play it cool because he’s trying to rep for his lady friend. I admire that in him. His little jealous streak is cute, but damn we’re about to jacked the fuck up.
They tap on the passenger side window like asking me to roll it down. I did halfway knowing that acknowledging some other dude maybe thinking I’m cute is going to be really awkward but what am I supposed to do? Just sit there as they tap on the window? I roll it down halfway and the bigger of the two goes,
“Are you Melissa from the Real World…” and I looked confused because I didn’t really understand him at first. It took me a second to register everything that was happening. I just knew I was getting Real World’ed and then he said, “Excuse me, I’m hard of hearing” and he points to his hearing aid. He was deaf. So naturally the sound of his speech indicated that he was, in fact, deaf. I rolled the window down all the way to shake his hand and he introduced me to his friend who was also deaf. His friend’s name was Shrimpman. I shook both of their hands. They paid me a bunch of compliments. I said thank you a bunch of times.
They walked away, smiling and waving and I was smiling and waving.
When they were out of our view, I looked at J who somehow couldn’t manage to look me square in the eyes and I said,
“Good going dude, you just tried to step to two fucking deaf guys asshole…”
And J was like, “I didn’t know they were deaf. Even still, they were big as fuck and I had your back girl. You need to recognize that."
I could tell he was trying to keep a straight face and he knew better than to say anything inappropriate so he just drove off quietly. We were quiet for a long time. It was awful, but funny in a weird, we shouldn’t think this is funny kind of way.
Okay friends. It’s Fashion Week in New York. Must go plan my crashing techniques…
Posted by melissah at September 8, 2005 06:16 PM