surgeon general warning

Sunday, February 24, 2002

The beginning of an entry. There’s much more to be added about last weekend (like meeting Florence on Friday night and the Ruta Maya Benefit on Saturday night prior to this little exchange), but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

“Bums do this,” I said as we stood in an unknown backyard around a fire burning in a can at a party to which Jorge had invited John and I.
A girl with long blonde hair and medium thickness stood next to us. When she first walked up, I thought, Oh God, she wants to talk. She did. She latched onto what I’d just said.
“Yeah, but they’re better at it.”
“Their cans are bigger,” I said.
She said, “Yeah, so are their other things…”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, “they’re all shrivelled.”
“So you’re saying yours is bigger?”
“Well, yes, they don’t eat well–…”
“You’ve hung out with bums and compared dick sizes?” she asked.
“Well, no–…”
“So how do you know yours is bigger?”
“They don’t get enough nutrients in their diet,” I replied.
“Yours is bigger than a bums?”
“Yes, I eat well. And, yes, I’ve hung around with bums. For research purposes only.”
“I studied anthropology,” she said, “and I’ve found that thin, short guys have the biggest dicks.”
“Really. Thin and short.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this conversation, except that it was fun being sarcastic and cold. She held her beer and swayed back and forth. Yeah, she’s drunk and looking to get laid, I thought. John and I stared into the fire.
To John, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette that you’d let a girl like me borrow, would you?”
“No,” he replied. The crowd around us laughed and listened for what came next. Nothing.
He handed her a cigarette. My hand came from my pocket with a Diamond Shamrock lighter. As I struck the flint, she cupped her hand around the flame. It died and I hit the flint again, she grabbed my hand and pulled it toward her.
“You’re putting it out,” I said.
“I just wanted more contact,” she replied.
“Happens all the time.”
“Oh, I bet. I’m sure it’s very common for girls to hit on you–…”
“You have no idea. Common and unfortunate,” I said.
“…and ask for lights.”
“It’s because I have the best lighters.”
We stared into the fire again.
“So what do you guys do for excitement?” she asked.
We laughed.
John said, “You’re looking at it. Actually, I drive by a house at night,” referring to Erin, the girl he’s been crushing on for the last year who lives down the street from him and works at Ruta Maya.
Back to the fire.
“Well, what do you guys do for enthrallment?”
“I date lesbians and then talk about it,” I replied.
“I wish I were a lesbian,” she said.
“So does Will,” John chimed in.
“No kidding,” I confirmed.
“Then it wouldn’t be strange that I have my hand in my pants while standing outside at a fire,” she said.
“I hadn’t noticed until now…” I told her.
One of those vulturous fellows who picks out drunk girls to hit on then came up and she half-turned away from us to talk to him. John and I laughed at the entire thing.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.