Greetings, pumpkins! I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving -- even those of you who live in countries where you don't sacrifice turkeys to the Land Lord in his infinite wisdom for the real estate windfall created by decimation of the native population while drinking beer at noon and pointing larger, shinier pieces from the butcher block at first degree relatives because triptophen causes a feeling of distrust.
But I'm just cynical this year because I spent all of Wednesday and Thursday in the throes of a wicked stomach flu complete with repetitive projectile vomiting. I had a piece of dry toast and half a cup of peppermint tea around 6 pm for Thanksgiving dinner. Boo-hoo, poor me, etc., etc...
Anyway, I woke up Friday STARVING, so my friend Baldie took me out to brunch and then we bopped around -- stopping in a comic book store. While perusing the numerous fiddy cent bins, I discovered a comic called My Monkey's Name Is Jennifer by Ken Knudsten. Of course, I purchased the three random issues I found, because "It's a scientifically proven fact that everyone's favorite word is their own name."
That quote is from Lars and the Real Girl, which is the fan-freaking-tastic movie that Baldie and I went to see at the neighborhood theater. I give it five stars, several dozen outloud laughs and three hankies. It's the heartwarming story of a pathologically isolative nice guy named Lars, who buys a custom made sex doll on the internet, puts her in a wheelchair and introduces her around town as his girlfriend Bianca. It's kind of a post-modernist re-telling of The Velveteen Rabbit for adults. Go see it A.S.A.P.
Then Baldie and I went bar hopping, ending up with Pauly in Boystown where 2 wonderful things happened:
1. I got to watch a buff young man gyrate in velour hotpants which had a kind of penis bustier -- a cocktier? -- sewn in them.
2. I really, REALLY had to pee at one point, and the sexy and extremely sweet drag queen dancing with me in the hallway bathroom line danced me in ahead of her -- even though she was in front of me. (Maybe my moves betrayed my urgency?)
I'm thinking, however, that you're probably going to only ever be platonic friends with someone who says, "What a great day! I've had so much fun with you! Do you want to go to Boystown, now?" Even if he is straight, he probably doesn't like you in that way (Unless, he's kinky.)
Either way, I guess...