Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Meeting Someone

Washington DC, Springtime 1992

I'm a bartender/manager at a neighborhood gay bar. I'm downstairs at the front bar with Clarke, a bartender. He has one customer sitting at his bar. I've been working someone elses shift all day, and I've got to open my own bar, up on the third floor at 8:00 p.m. Someone comes in that has been previously banned. I ask them to leave, they don't, I call the cops. I'm still argueing with them, not really letting them into the bar (but just inside). The customer sitting at Clarke's bar says something like "Do you need any help", to which I reply, "No thanks, the police are on the way."

He's nice looking enough. Redish (!?!) hair, which I'm not crazy about. Pastey white skin, freckles. Not my type at all. Great arms... looks like he works out ONLY his arms. Muscles on top of muscles there. And he smoked.

I moved on. I had the cops come, remind the guy that he couldn't come in, and went about setting up my bar. Again... on the third floor. I thought this guy might take the hint. But I didn't see him again.

(It shoud be said that I was at then end of a five year relationship at that point. It wasn't over just yet, but that would happen very soon.)

Cut to some random Friday night a few weeks later. I worked that day, so I was off. It was late in the evening, around 11:30 at least. I was at the main bar talking with a drag-queen friend of mine. Suddenly, someone taps me on the shoulder and asks if they can borrow my lighter. I offer it without looking over my shoulder, and continue with my conversation. The night ends, and I go home.

Cut to June. Saturday the 20th. I'm in the bar in the afternoon, early, as a customer. I've finished my, let's call them errands, for the day and stop in. Howard is our bartender, and there are MAYBE a total of five other people in the bar. Two guys come in. After they get what they want, Howard starts flirting with both of them, as Howard does. Finally, they start throwing the coasters, a pet peeve of mine and Howard's. One throws a coaster at Howard and he (Howard) looks at me to see which one did it. It was a non-verbal signal of his, asking me. I tapped my head indicating that it was the one with the hat on.

This started a conversation between me and the one with a hat. He turned out to be the same guy sitting at Clarke's bar months prior. We talked for a bit, and made plans to meet the next day for Pride Day. We were to meet after the parade, right there.

The next day, I watched the parade with Randy and Ed. I was staying with them, since my EX (of five years) and I had split up. We were on P street, in someone's house on the 2nd floor. It was boring as usual. Washington DC's Pride parade was really quite embarassing, as far as entries go. So afterwards, we went to the bar. No date in the house. We had a couple of beers... okay more than a couple. Still no date. Great, first one and I've been stood up. Without getting into all that, we dicided to move on to another bar.

We went on to Mr. P's. We spent a number of hours there, they had a new patio bar. It's all wood, at least that's what I remember. At one point, I fell and scraped my knee. Sure it was superficial, but I bleed like a stuck pig. Later on, the bar was spilling out into the street in front. I'm out there with my beer (something we never did on a regular day...) And there he is strolling down the street.

I think I gave him a hard time about being late, but I'll be honest. I hadn't eaten and been drinking since, what, 10 a.m. and here it was around 4:00 in the afternoon. I don't think I was sloppy, but I was definatly drunk. We stayed there for a bit, but eventually, we went home. To "my" place. Well, okay, it was Ed and Randy's place, but I had a room.

Almost 13 years later, he's still hanging around. Or I am, whatever. He really has been my biggest supporter through alot of things in my life. Sure, our relationship has changed over those 13 years, but still the love is there. I still go crazy if I feel like someone does somthing wrong to him. When he is pissed about something, I tend to be pissed about it.

Funny thing is... he wasn't my type then, and he's not my type now. What does that say about our perceived "type"?
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And I still itch, but the hives seem to have subsided. Now I am a walking dead-skin factory.


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