Saturday, September 26, 2009

Dirty Magazine


I must say, I am rather pleased with the status quo these days! On the surface everything seems bright and clean and scented with crisp early autumn sunshine and freshly baked goods, but it is in the deep down where things are a bit more, shall we say, interesting!

House of Ill-Repute.

In a desperate attempt to save my friendship with Hamlet, I found myself at the town's adult book-store. Right. I'm not going to remove that, typed as it was in naivete! In truth, he's frightfully busy with architecture, and I am up to my eyes in work both academic and otherwise, we barely see each other these days! Thusly, (thusly?) we decided to meet each other at this charmingly cavernous espresso bar downtown. I felt positively debauch: here I had stolen a few hours from my day to meet my friend, as if in secret, and my judgmental Physics homework would never know! I still giggle at the memory.

As far as the adult book-store is concerned, I found myself standing before a rather affable gentleman asking for directions to the venue where I was supposed to meet Hamlet. The gentleman was the proprietor of the shop: clad in black, smile on his face, he greeted me with a cheery, "What can I do you for?"
In a puerile moment, I did think on the lines of, 'Do me for? Are you for real?' But that moment passed, thankfully.
I phrased my inquiry rather oddly:
"You probably don't get this a lot..."
There was an imperceptible change to his friendly features: he suddenly had his work-face on, a work-face that said, 'Oh here's a new challenge: there isn't much I haven't heard of friend...'
I was almost tempted to pipe up, "Do you have 'Dirtpipe Milkshakes Vol. 12'?" just to see the extent to which I could faze him. But I was afraid that he might actually have what was just asked for in jest, then I'd have to buy it so as to avoid looking like a doofus, and however would I explain the presence of enema porn at the residence hall without appearing like someone with a bagful of issues?!
But I digress...
So I asked him for directions to the coffee place, and he more than obliged, he actually called the coffee place to get rather detailed instructions, cheekily telling them to expect a "well-dressed young guy" soon. I would have blushed if I wasn't doing so already. The whole place had that midwestern friendliness to its depravity: the magazines were less, "You know you want to..." and more, "It would be nice if you did!"
As I walked past one of the aisles, I received such a genial smile from a patron, you would think we were both
buying groceries at Target! A cheery wave and a "Do come again!" from the proprietor marked my exit and I emerged dazed onto the street, but with a fairly good idea of where I was going.

Hickey.

Hamlet has acquired a girlfriend. Yes, he really hit it off with Mary Wollstonecraft- a kindred spirit who was of great solace to me during 'My Year Abroad: Part Une' (Yeah, we don't talk about that.). I am happy for him, for them. It's charming to see them engage each other at an intellectual level so suited to one another: her fire is his smile, his intensity reflects itself in her winsome visage: it's all very sweet, to the point where I want to throw them some odd variant of the Engagement Breakfast, and invite all my friends to fawn at the couple. Ah, but as becomes a good friend, I have been keeping a healthy aesthetic distance: power may be in threes, menage a trois's may be fun, but no-one likes a third wheel!

One evening, after my meetings were done with, and I was adding the final flourishes to an immunology lab report, trying to gloss over a rather tragic murine demise, my whore of a phone vibrated in that delicious way it does when it has something undeniably juicy to tell me, and I found out that Hamlet had been spotted sporting a rather monstrous hickey! As becomes my title, I posted a rather bitchy-revealing-but-not-too-revealing status message on Facebook. Oh we enjoyed that immensely! In a conversation with Hamlet (one with a very post-mortem-esque air) I threw in a few barbs on the lines of, "I think a hickey is a great accessory, now, *I* never could wear one!" Ah, but he's an astute one, my friend is! He caught me right out: I do believe he called me a "horrible jelly-fish serving bitch". Good times! Good times!

Oh, but constant reader, the truth is deeper than all these shallow fables: I am alone. Barring a few instances of unspeakable nastiness, I have nothing to show for my (alleged) youth. But boldly do I lock my skeletons in their walk-in residence, and judge away to glory. Oh of course I am happy! I shop, I befriend, I laugh, and I judge. They like me, and I like myself for a while! My own version of Cunegonde's ditty would go:

"And yet of course these trinkets are endearing, HA-HA!
I know for a fact my Gucci is a star, HA-A-HA!
If not myself, I do love what I'm wearing, HA-HA!
If I'm not pure, at least my shirts are!"

Wanton.

A few nights ago, I found myself swaggering (and I swear this is true!) through the halls of our neighbouring all-woman's residence hall striking up conversations, and generally being a whore. The R.A.'s at that hall had put together a programme in which they allowed unaccompanied males to stroll through their halls just to see how many of their residents would be willing to call them out on the escort policy. I dressed the part: baggy shorts, overpowering perfume, a neck-piece of sophomoric cool, a V-necked T-shirt layered with a plaid shirt, hair rising up in quills: I looked like the stereotypical freshman. I seriously considered the exposed boxer bit, but I lost my nerve at the last minute. Some lines should never be crossed.
To my pleasant surprise, I was hit on. Constantly. I came very close to collecting a few phone numbers, but didn't because I was on a mission: a mission that entailed me playing the part of a wanton, unescorted boy(!) with loose morals. I have never felt so objectified before, and I liked it.

Until the next time,
GossipGuy!

4 comments:

  1. I find it funny how I barely know what you look like, yet I can not picture you with cactus hair... Psychological imagery is a world on it's own...

    Anyway, you have no idea how much I smiled when I read about the "midwestern friendliness" of the adult book store. :) Maybe it's just you. Just out of curiosity though, you didn't find anywhere else to ask for directions aside from an adult book store?

    Lastly, I agree completely. Some rules were never meant to be broken.

    ReplyDelete
  2. GOOD GOD there are so many things about this post that are so unlike you and yet very you... no sense no!?
    This post was hilarious from the overly-willing-to-help-dirty-mags-store-guy to you whoring your self in the all-woman's residence hall!
    That being said… “exposed boxer bit”… “enema porn”… WHY!!!??? Ah… FARGO! Hhmmmffffff!
    I could so relate to the need to throw an engagement breakfast for a blossoming couple and yet I find it interesting that you didn’t feel the need to break them up and feed them day old sashimi… since I’m all in love now I now nurture these lovely twosomes… I amuse the role of an Italian MAMA!
    And honey… YOU wonton… ME dim sum… but in the end we all Chinese food… and since I’m having too much fun with this... I hate the fortune cookies… I hate them but I secretly want to be one!

    S

    ReplyDelete
  3. DIRTPIPE MILKSHAKES VOL12 HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

    Ah, hm, god, I needed that today, after my pile timetable that could very well be soaked with Satan's urine after a plate full of asparagus considering it's disgusting-ness-ness.

    And lord, that man-whore outfit IS jarring.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I must confess i admire your writing. It isn't often you find a blog which goes beyond "I ate good cake today" but you truly have placed yourself in a league above others. Kudos to you on that.

    ReplyDelete

It's all about the conversation...

LinkWithin

Related Posts with Thumbnails