Shame thy name is Bunny

I don't go out very often. I'm too weird to be a regular social animal. The problem with this is the buildup of wasted energy, often a good thing with people who know how to release it carefully. However, I'm not one of those people.

Take last night, for instance. I invited a friend to join me at a bar in Old Town. There was a line around the block, and he was at the end of it. I thought he should be at the front of it. When I was told he would have to wait his turn, I was not happy. I told the bouncer that he wasn't letting my friend and I come in because we were black. When I called the bouncer "whitey" I was "ejected." If I remember correctly, the door man was of middle eastern descent, and last time I checked, my face was white as snow.

Things go very fuzzy at this point. I remember getting into an argument with a cab driver about giant slalom technique, parabolic skis versus good, old fashioned "camber and crank." I made this term up in the cab.

I came to at a White Hen on Clark at approximately 2am. I was buying Mountain Dew. I don't understand this, because I can count on one hand the amount of times I've consumed Mountain Dew, and I've never particularly enjoyed it. The register guy is trying to talk me into coffee, because I need it. I take his advice, but only after he admits to me that "technology is forging a nation of lazy skiiers," and then a conversation takes place, something about Sunnis versus Shiites. I'm all about "versus." Black V White, parabolics V camber, Sunnis V Shiites.

I sit with him behind the register. I show him pictures of my dogs and we discuss in great detail how they are superior to all other canines currently living. He decides I should marry his cousin. He calls his cousin to tell him so, and I don't know what he says into the phone because he is speaking Farsay.

His cousin arrives a half hour later. He's fresh off a shift at the hospital around the corner from my apartment, where he is a resident. He is dreamy. I tell him that "we should go to my apartment and make out." He throws caution to the wind and follows me.

Halfway to my apartment, I stop to quiz him about colorectal cancer, just to make sure he isn't some whackjob who threw on some scrubs and called himself a doctor. I also ask him his name, and it sounds like "Fonzi." I tell him that we will role play while making out, and that from this minute forward, he will refer to me as "Leather Tuscadero."

After walking my snouts (he picks up the poop), we make out for six hours. He says he thinks he loves me. I tell him that love is as outdated as camber. I don't know what this means.

Later I play with my ponies and nearly shit my pants.

Comments

Posted by: Azizeh at December 18, 2005 05:05 PM

Posted by: Reid at December 19, 2005 11:07 AM

Posted by: tim at December 20, 2005 02:25 AM

Posted by: halfway at December 21, 2005 05:46 PM

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