Ultimate Pickup Line #103

Saturday night at Omega, sitting at the bar:

Creepy Old Man: “I find you very attractive.”
Me: “Thank you.”
Creepy Old Man: “I like stocky nerdy types with little dicks who like to take it up the ass.”
Me: (…)
Creepy Old Man: (…)

In the past this guy has walked up to me out of the blue and said things like:

Creepy Old Man: “Your English is very good. You speak very clearly.”


Creepy Old Man: “It doesn’t matter, but do you have a boyfriend?”

Last year he was talking to me and being his usual old, creepy self so I told him I was there with my boyfriend. He asked who my boyfriend was so I said “him” and pointed in the general direction of my friends Tadd and Keith. I gave them the please save me look and Tadd waved me over towards them. I told Tadd what had happened but Creepy Old Man never came over. Later that night I was talking to someone else and Creepy Old Man walked over and barked at me: “THAT. WAS NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND!” He then stomped off to his tomb on the other side of the bar. For months after that, he’d see me out and would say something like “Where is your ‘boyfriend’.. TONIGHT?”, complete with Creepy Airquotes(tm). Other times, like last night, he’ll give no indication that he recognizes me.

It’s hysterical and terrifying at once – like the old Tales From the Crypt series on HBO except in this episode the Crypt Keeper wants to get in my pants.

Drunken thoughts, 3:10 am on a Friday night

I know you’re excited.

Yes, it’s another entry in my “Drunken Thoughts” Series – where I say too much after drinking too much.

Sometime tomorrow I’ll fight the urge to delete this entry. Instead I’ll merely fix the grammar and correct the spelling so I’ll appear more cognitive than I really am. (And better with tenses.) I apologize if you read it before then.

Fuck it.

Today I revisit past tragedies with all new characters. All new except of course, one. This is my blog after all, so they’re always about me.

As usual, there is alcohol involved and it is set in a sleazy bar.

It’s the same old plot though: Boy meets boy, boy likes boy, boy leaves bar with other boy.

Hint: I’m not the other boy.

I’m not upset with him though. I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed in myself for getting my hopes up so quickly again.

Again, I felt stupid.

I walked home from the bar, my frustration and self pity shrinking with each step as the men of P Street disappeared behind me.

Walking, I wished I was able to move from guy to guy each night like so many of my friends, passing on one as another seemed more likely — I’d probably feel more in control. I’d feel less stupid.

I wished I was one of those guys but I am glad I am not.

Just sayin.

I’ve wasted too much energy on this already, now if you don’t mind I have some cats to cuddle.

Not ashamed, but not proud

I went out Saturday night with Randy and his friend Jason. We were thinking about going to JRs but opted instead for the nightly tragedy that is Omega. I have to admit I have a soft spot in my colon for Omega, as it’s probably the most “New Orleansy” bar in DC. Yes, that is supposed to be a back-handed complement. On a scale of tragicness it’s somewhere between Lafitte’s and Corner Pocket.

Hmmm. Let me re-phrase that.

If Lafitte’s and Corner Pocket conceived a bar on the pool table in the backroom of Rawhide, nine months later Omega would pop out of someone’s ass.

In a good way.

When there’s a good crowd at Omega the first floor is usually filled with the more uppity segment of Omega’s clientèle, standing around a big rectangular bar ogling muscley-fat strippers who wave their banana-hammocks in your face while you try to order a drink (that’s the Corner Pocket part.) Like Rawhide and Corner Pocket, it’s easier to start a conversation at Omega since people there are usually less guarded than at places like JRs or Halo, where the guys are more concerned about how their hair looks than actually meeting anyone new. People seem a little more friendly at Omega (that’s not necessarily a good thing) and I’ve managed to meet a couple guys there and talked for a while.

Of course, I never heard from them again, but you know.. at least I got a name and fake number!

Now, upstairs at Omega is a full-on freak fest. It’s like Lafitte’s but with a nicer bathroom and less leather. There’s porn playing in a weird room that everyone stands around and watches (I haven’t seen anyone getting jiggy with it though… they seem to be genuinely interested in the porn.. go figure.) This is where I saw the Peaches/Miss Piggy “Fuck The Pain Away” video for the first time. It’s how the previous generation remembers exactly where they were when Kennedy was shot except this isn’t the greatest leader of our time being assassinated, it’s footage of pig puppet manipulated to look as if it’s masturbating.

Same difference.

Anyway, I spent 25 minutes upstairs getting yelled at in Italian by some guy who apparently date(d?)s some big-wig food critic for the Post. Actually, he was trying to teach me some “necessary Italian phrases,” but all I remember is him rubbing my nipples and yelling “prego!” at me for a half hour. His insane, drunk friend was from Brazil and was fascinated by Randy’s t-shirt because it was green and had a bird on it. He gave Randy a hug and screamed “You like the Brazil, right!? I FROM BRAZIL! I Love this!”

He did. He loved this. For 40 minutes.

Around 2am after we ditched the Italian linguist and Brazilian envionmentalist, Randy and Jason left and I started talking to this guy who later invited me to Annie’s for a burger with his friends. They wondered home afterwards and I made my way to the Metro. No kiss or anything but I got his number so hopefully I’ll get to see him again. He seemed nice, through my drunken stupor.

Speaking of drunken stupor, I fell asleep on the train on the way home and woke up at 4:30am in Greenbelt.

“Fell asleep” sounds so much nicer than “Passed out,” right?

After getting into a semantics debate with a cab driver, I wound up paying $40 bucks to get home. Honestly, I still don’t even know where Greenbelt is, it could be around the corner from my house.

So, how was your weekend?