In preparation of Remi’s big night out with the guys, I took myself out today. On a date. Sort of. Well I have this wicked sore throat and trying to be a good friend, have been keeping my cooties far away from Lana. Which means that when Remi’s at work, I’m flying solo on any mission to entertain myself.
So I took myself out for a drive. Just to get out of the house for starters and hoping that the fresh air would kick start my social butterfly gene, that so often lies dormant. No such luck. Only ten minutes out and I already felt the urge to turn the Mini around and head home. After all, my dogs were probably missing me! But my neighbors were having a big block party and it took me 15 minutes to maneuver my car down a street of playing children, that like to dart in and out of the parked cars just when you think it’s safe to touch the gas pedal.
Not wanting to drive back down my street and deal with all the kids, I really didn’t want to deal with all the adults on the block wondering what was wrong with me. I never leave the house, and when they finally see me venture further then my front porch alone, I return in under ten minutes. My tail between my legs, pretending that I had forgotten something very important or that wherever I was going, I had already gone and come back in record time.
My social anxiety was at such an all time high, that just the extra cars on our block today, for the various parties going on, were making me feel claustrophobic. No, I could not go back home yet.
But where should I go?
Hamburger Mary’s was showing the Real L word tonight. Despite my hesitation to get excited about the series, it’s still a curiosity and if we had television right now, I would definitely watch it. Even if it was just so I could be right all along and not like it. But I’m pretty sure I’d get hooked in spite of myself.
Hmmm that’s an option. But I look like crap and the chances of running into people I know there, even just by sight, is way to high for me to deal with right now. The last thing I need is an ex or even worse, an ex friend spotting me there alone, looking shabby, miserable and bored. No thank you.
The next option is to go to this gay coffee house down the street from Hamburger Mary’s and write. This sounds pretty good to me. But then I’m faced with the same possible outcome. Running into the last people on earth I would want to see today. Because really, it always happens like that. You never see your ex’s when you’re looking super skinny and hot. NO! If you want a guarantee that you will run into someone from your past, that you would want to impress if for no other reason that just to feel better about how badly they treated you when you knew them; then go out looking frumpy, chubby and miserable and I promise, that is the day you will run into them.
OK, my anti-pep talk worked and I successfully persuaded myself from going anywhere I might see people I know.
That left the bookstore in the next town over where only straight people shop. We live in a little town that’s smack dab between beaches. Ten minutes to the east and we’re in gay-friendly Long Beach where most of my ex-girlfriends live. Ten minutes to the west and we’re in super-straight Redondo Beach where Remi and I get stared at for holding hands.
So I head west.
I end up at my favorite, boring bookstore B&N and quickly make my way to the gay and lesbian section. But before I can get to the escalator I see that I have unwittingly caught the attention of some big black guy.
Great. Not only am I still gay, but I’m feeling really cranky today. Please oh please don’t talk to me, I think to myself as loudly as I can, hoping that he’ll pick up on the vibes.
No such luck. I jump on the escalator without making eye contact, but I immediately hear heavy footsteps behind me and then body heat. I should not be close enough to a stranger on the escalator to actually feel the heat emanating from their body. I can also smell his cologne and it’s making me feel sick to my stomach. I haven’t eaten yet today and I decide that might actually be a good thing at this point.
I practically leap off the escalator as soon as it reaches the top, having already climbed two steps at a time to put some distance between me and this person.
I quickly walk to the gay and lesbian section and pick up the first book I see and hold it up like I’m reading it, so the cover is clearly visible to anyone approaching. It’s called, “So you Wanna Be a Lesbian.”
After about 30 seconds I peak over my book cover and realize that I am alone in the aisle. Ahhhh …. I breathe a sigh of relief. I put down this book, which by the looks of it was pretty entertaining and bend over to look for any books by Ivan Coyote. Why are all the dyke books on the bottom row all the time?
I’m bending over trying to see the titles when I hear, “Hmm mmmm …. whatchya lookin’ for?”
Fucking hell.
(For such a boring ass day this was a long ass blog. Read the rest tomorrow if I didn’t already bore you to tears.)
You must not have looked too shabby if you got a stalker that fast! LOL. No wonder Remi’s leaving you at home. You’re safer that way.
I’m just glad you’re writing. You are never boring. You have such a flair that makes anything interesting. You really know how to keep up the suspense. Now I can’t wait to find out what happened.
I’m starting to think most of my quirks can be traced back to whatever combo of nature/nurture makes me “bipolar.”
The similarities I see in your writing are often amusing, but in posts like this they’re almost painful…I can feel your panic as my own and I can so identify with this type of day.
Sorry to hear you’re having a rough go of things and hoping you came up with a real ringer to get rid of your bookstore stalker. (It’s like they smell the anxiety on us and assume we’re easy prey!)
Good for you for facing the demons and getting out of the house…that takes tremendous courage. And huge kudos for writing so honestly about it!!
I’m intrigued enough to return tomorrow. Sometimes dull days make the best stories..
I’m a little curious about something. How is it relevant that this guy is black?
@ Femme Fairy Godmother …. it was simply what happened and I was trying to be as descriptive as possible. Personally whenever I hear a good story, I ask what the other person looked like, it helps me visualize the story better. Had he been a big white dude or big hispanic dude, I would have said so as well.
I always think it’s funny when people don’t want to call someone what they are. I’m pretty sure the guy knew he was black and I wasn’t saying anything disrespectful by telling you that he was. I would question someone who tries to be too “politically correct” that they end up whispering or leaving out someone’s ethnicity all together in fear that it would offend someone. Because that alone tells me that they think there is something to be ashamed of to be a person of color. Personally as a woman of mixed heritage, I would be offended if someone was scared of offending me by calling me what I am. I’m proud of my heritage and I don’t hide it.
I stand by my use of adjectives. It’s not like I called him a racial slur at all. I would NEVER do that. Would it have been more palatable to call him an African American male of great stature?