Note: If you get squeamish about homosexuality, or you're under the age of 10, best to give this blog entry a pass. Just sayin'...
So I was out on a weeknight hike with the Sierra Club tonight, huffing and puffing up a steep hill behind a skinny Korean woman who looked like she was about to pass out, and in fact disappeared from our group shortly thereafter along with the guy doing the sweep, we assume because she was too tired too continue though I suppose a coyote attack is not entirely out of the question, when I got a call from my BFF Amy. It took me a long time to realize this, because I just got a new phone yesterday, and the default ringtone is the kind of hip-hop nonsense that you always identify with someone else's phone. After fumbling with it for what seemed an interminably long time I heard Amy's yo-dude-what's-up voice ring through the line.
"We haven't connected in forever. I'm going to be hanging out in my 'hood tonight, at a new girl bar I just discovered. Do you want to come join in?"
Girl bar, for those of you that don't go to girl bars, is a euphemism for a lesbian hangout. I spent a lot of the last two years hanging out in the gay community and I know a LOT of lesbians. I like women a whole lot and it's nice to be able to have a conversation with one without the whole "is he trying to fuck me?" question hanging like a damp Southern night over the interaction. I never know the answer to that question until I've had the conversation, anyway, so the whole thing is just annoying. So the company of lesbians works out great for me. I hadn't been hanging out with that crew much lately -- mostly because I had started to miss having sex -- and so I said if she was still around after the hike and my meetup with Tony Perkins (ex-Poptopia, Martin Luther Lennon) that I would swing by.
After a sweaty hike during which I got separated from my group, joined another group, got separated from them too, and then finally stumbled back to my car, I executed a sticky change of clothes in the Astro Burger john, hung out with Tony for a bit, and then headed over to the girl bar where Amy was, as usual, holding court and saying whatever popped into her head and making me laugh. Amy is a little like Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times At Ridgemont High, except with an awesome rack. She is one of my favorite people in the world, because she always is exactly who she is. No pretense, straight up.
Anyhows, I settled in and before I knew it I felt pleasantly buzzed with the company of witty people who keep me amused (e.g. not the Sierra Club) and we started exchanging stories of our latest personal life dramas. Amy and I didn't have much to report, but Amy's "lesbro" friend, who I'll call Sherman, was telling us all about his latest fling.
"He was this older guy, and he had this big beard. It was kind of like having sex with Santa Claus. It was great!"
Amy and I both have a pretty big bandwidth for odd statements and out-there sexual behavior, but I think we each looked a little horrified at this revelation. Sherman, generally a fairly unflappable dude, backtracked a little and said: "I mean, not Santa Claus when he was old. When he was young. You know."
Horror turned to befuddlement.
"You know, like, when Santa Claus was St. Nick, he was hot. Not like the fat old guy with Mrs. Claus and all that. St. Nick was a hot dude. It was like St. Nick."
"Never mind...I didn't mean St. Nick. I meant Casey Jones. I was with Casey Jones."
I was still struggling to get the Jolly Old Elf image out of my mind and I couldn't begin to follow this. Luckily, right about then in her usual way Amy made three new friends to our left at the bar. Two of them left, but one joined us. She had just come out recently, into making new friends, and was excited to meet three people that were part of the lesbian community, even though two of us were guys. Like Amy, she was a very beautiful what-you-see-is-what-you-get type who made for a good hang. She also was very liberal with the dispensement of the Merlot, buying us all drinks and getting me quite buzzed in the process. And given that I live in the Valley, that meant another early morning shuffling around Los Feliz trying to sober up when the bar closed. Which is to say, a pretty typical night out for me.
A good night. But I don't think I can sleep, because my mind has now assigned a whole new meaning to "ho, ho, ho..." I need a hug.