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November 14, 2005
The Amputee
It’s either one of two things.
I am old. Or I am a Long Islander.
Not that there’s anything wrong with either. I mean, the love, food, family and shelter here on Long Island are most amazing. And the old part, well, that I can’t control so I might as well try to obsessively curb it while having fun. (Do you exfoliate your entire body daily?)
So, here are the events that led me to my belief that I am (whoa) an old Long Islander. Both, I just admitted to both.
My friend Brad (www.bradwalsh.com) invited me to MisShapes like this:
“Hi. I’m meeting up with Perez at MisShapes and I know you said you’re not really into that but you should come so we can all hang out…”
There was a mention of Hilary Duff and Joel Madden as well, but I became paralyzed at the MisShapes part so I wasn’t in full attention mode. To all the hipsters, it’s nothing personal. I just don’t own any costumes, heroin or fake IDs so I can’t relate, you know. I’m not awesome like that. Plus, like I said I’m an old Long Islander. It’s like if you invited a 59-year-old Jewish school teacher to MisShapes. She’d be just as stressed as I was.
But I love my friends so…
Just then my phone beeps and a character that you’ve met before here named GayCockSuck calls and says, “We’re going to see Bauhaus,” (or some other band that I remarked with damn, they still sell records?) “and then we’re going to MisShapes. Amanda and I will be there so you should come.”
When he says Amanda, he means Amanda Lepore. Just Google it already. She’s amazing. It’s intense New York City shit.
So I’m in a quandary. Straight up. Here I am, freshly showered, ready to go to RED LOBSTER (don’t front like you don’t like Red Lobster) and I say to my boo, “Dude, it’s a Code Red…”
J stops drumming for half a second. Yes, I had to yell super loud right in his ear as I approached him playing the drums to say that we might be going into the city.
With a solemn look on his face, he says, “Yo, I ain’t going to MisShapes” as he punches in all kinds of numbers in his phone to find all his Brooklyn friends that might love to walk around endlessly looking at expensive furniture in the windows of stores that are already closed while I, little old I, have to go to MisShapes.
It’s a Code Red, but not because we don’t love socializing. It’s not that we don’t love our lovely friends, I swear. It’s the commitment. The drive late into the night. For J, it’s the drinks and the bar-hopping and the “schmucks” we may encounter. He doesn’t drink, you know. Basically, if it’s remotely fun, he’s not into it. Meat, alcohol, smoke, retail therapy not having to do with furniture, cars or gadgets – he’s not into it.
J likes these things exclusively: Dwell Magazine, push-ups, flavored coffee, trail mix, Guitar Center, Chinatown, work and drawing inappropriate pictures on paper placemats in diners. What exactly is a jackucorn, I ask? And he replies, “a magestical beast, duh.” I think this creature is from Northern Ireland too.
So we get into the city and we swoop up our favorite third wheel Dave. It’s not really like he’s a third wheel though. And come to think of it, it’s not really like I’m a third wheel. The conversation gels most instantly and the one girl or the dude that’s not in the couple never feels left out. We all enjoy gigantic pieces of sushi.
After dinner, J puts me in a cab to Leroy and 7th and I’m off on my own little adventure. Scared. A little cold and then I remembered HEY!
My friend TJ, the model, lives very close to MisShapes. I called him up and told him he too will be going on this adventure. He said sure and he says his friend Minhee is coming too. He didn’t say that Minhee was the hottest Korean white chick ever that once played Pocahontas at Disney and that I should hang my head in shame as I met her. She was smoking hot. Hair gleaming all off her head. Tiny waist. No Long Island Dunkin Donuts pooch. She was fire and I was like fuck. I should have known. Models only kick it with extremely hot people or extremely ugly interesting people. Wait, does that make me –
TJ, Minhee and our other friend Ryan (an adorable dude that looks like a hot Harry Connick Jr) and I make our way to MisShapes. We meet Perez, Brad and Brad’s two cute lady friends. We enter. We drink. Ryan leans into me and says, “If I’m ever one of the people we point out and make fun of, please please tell me.” And I say, “Dude, of course.” Knowing I’m the biggest asshole in the place based on just Real World alone, I assure him he’s fucking way cooler than everyone here.
We stand around and TJ finally says, “I think everyone hates us.”
It’s true. We did feel like we were hated. Was it that Minhee and TJ were models with nay a hair out of place, a polish chipped? Was it that I was on Real World, an almost vintage stage of Real World at that? Was it that Ryan was wearing a hoodie and blazer combo?
Just then we spotted GayCockSuck and Amanda. It was crowded and stupid loud so we yelled shit we couldn’t really hear into each other’s ears. I shook Amanda’s hand. She’s such a lady. She doesn’t do no firm handshake shit. I do, because I always feel like it’s important in terms of being taken seriously. Shake that shit, tight and firm. Maybe two hands if you have to. She does a dainty lady of the 1920s shake, an almost white lace gloved shake. I was like oops. I was trying to arm wrestle the bitch and it’s like I’m not even the one that had my penis removed.
We decided to leave. I took Perez aside to tell him I was so excited for him as he embarked on his blogging career extraordinaire (for real though, it’s exciting) and I told Brad we had to leave. Brad* took some ugly (not his photography's fault, but my own) pictures of me (oh no) and then TJ, Minhee, Ryan and I got into a cab to some other bar.
TJ said he had to meet his friend there.
Suddenly we entered a portal into the Wild Mother Fucking West. Like, we were no longer in Manhattan. Inside this portal, cowboy boots hung from the ceiling. I also spotted a bison hanging above. TJ had to nudge past the quadruple amputee who held his beer in his armpit to get to the bar. He took big swigs whenever anyone had to maneuver around him as if to say, “Yeah bitch, I don’t have any fucking arms or legs and I can still drink, and what!” The thing is, I’m not even exaggerating. There really was an amputee in a wheelchair at the Wild West bar.
Minhee ordered drinks just before TJ could say, “No drinks, we’re leaving…” Damn it.
So now, all three of them have to finish their beers before we can move on. It’s endearing to me that at MisShapes Minhee was like, “Let’s go” as she did the neck cutting arm gesture and at this saloon she’s ordering a Budweiser oblivious to the insane environment. I liked that about her.
They’re drinking them and drinking them and drinking them. Seems like hours. I’m still tripping about the surroundings. I wasn’t drinking that night as I’ve found that I can’t have a single sip of alcohol lately without suffering an insane migraine the next morning. Plus, I’ve been reading Parenting magazine at the nail salon and I’m now secretly preparing my insides for the zygote.
We leave and now we’re on to some insane shit.
We go to this place called Boys Room. Now, I’ve been to some off the chain gay bars. I rather enjoy gay bars even though I am entirely incensed when someone calls me a “fag hag”. It’s the hag part, really.
At Boys Room, I meet Caswell. In his underwear. And a frilly neckpiece not attached to a shirt. He’s very sweet and he asks me to announce the winner of some thing that’s about to go down on this tiny little stage. I’m like, “Of course” not really knowing what the contest was. I mean, they were playing My Humps so I figured it would be like a nasty dance-off, which I’m almost overqualified to judge. I know nasty when I see it.
But do I?
This here contest was actually one of masturbatory content. Literally. I was too short to really see what was going on below the torso as I was smashed into a wall of gay. But I did see some porno facial expressions (neck back, veins bulging, mouth open) at which point, I was like, “Oh hell no” in my mind. Caswell said to me, “Welcome to New York” and I was like, honestly, “is this mother fucker jacking off on a stage in front of 200 people…” Like a robot, like my personality and soul had no say in the matter as I do not like to judge the sexual inclinations of those around me, my legs teamed up with my brain and automatically I started shoving my way farther and farther from the public sex.
I made my way to the entrance (read: exit) and I overheard some cute gays going, “That is disgusting” (still glued to their spots on the wall though).
I bumped into GayCockSuck again. Isn’t that funny? He said, “Girl, you are at the mother fucking Boys Room” and he clapped as if this was the most hilarious thing ever. I didn’t get the joke. I just kept texting J with “Where are you!” repeatedly so that he knew it was time for me to go.
GCS left MisShapes with Amanda because there was some beef. Something about the MisShapes and Heatherette something something. Something cool and interesting that I’m sure will rate high in the gossip chain of fashionable trannies and hipsters worldwide, but I was just so blown away by the entire night that I was just ready to go.
Housewifery is the shit, I’ve decided.
Even in the car though, the debauch, straight raunch shit did not end. We drove GCS back to Long Island with his “straight husband.” A friend of his that thinks he’s really straight even though we all know it’s only a matter of time and temperature. It’ll be too hot in that closet one day. He was passed out drunk so he couldn’t even defend his heterosexuality as GCS, J and I were all mildly discussing it right in his presence.
GCS, in some circles, is known as a “gayru” a sort of gay guide for punk rock youth that are over being bi and ready to party on down with the real shit. So, as you can imagine, this conversation at 3 am on the way back to Long Island was most amazing.
When I got home, I did some beauty stuff and went right to sleep as the next day I had to resume my regular state of being.
I had to go to the Swarovski crystal store and buy a glass oyster with a real pearl in the middle for J’s mother’s birthday. Then, I had to go to Hallmark to pick the prettiest card that J would be scribbling his name into. After that, we’d be eating Cheesecake Factory at 4 in the afternoon as dinner and then after that, I’d watch the Discovery Channel as J spent some time on the computer looking at real estate.
That’s a party too, you know.
*Just had to say that Brad has solidified his status as cool dude by making a reference to Red Lobster in an email today without having even read this here entry...
Posted by melissah at November 14, 2005 11:18 AM