Except they aren’t really conversations as much as they are eavesdropping. And they’re really more short descriptions of things heard than real excerpts. In my defence, I didn’t really want to listen to these, but proximity to the conversationees sort of forced me to.
Honest.
ACT I - At a crowded 'Indianized' pub and grill
The guy in the table next to ours is going a tad overboard with his tale telling. He’s with this (arguably gorgeous) woman, and obviously, he aims to impress. Apparently, he’s been to India (it comes up when he doesn’t mispronounce two dishes while ordering), so she’s excitedly asking him to describe how his trip was and so on. And then it starts, he begins to describe (among other things) how he cocktailed with (not one, but TWO) “Maharajas” and how they still live in extreme luxury ruling everyone, while people still revere them.
Now let’s back up the truck a bit, *beep* *beep* *beep*. It is an obvious fact most guys aren’t too interesting. So once in a while they (OK, we) need to stretch the truth a bit in order to make ourselves appear cooler than we really are. Now I don’t know if you know this, but there is this unwritten rule between guys that when one starts doing this, and another realizes it’s happening, he doesn’t just cut in and burst the bubble that’s being weaved. That’s just wrong. Fun, and a great way to win her trust, but wrong.
So I just sat there, some 2.5 feet away, biting my tongue trying not to scream “I AM FROM INDIA AND I DON’T KNOW OF ANY MAHARAJAS RULING, NOR WOULD I REVERE THEM IF THEY DID. WE’RE THE LARGEST DEMOCRACY IN THE WORLD, YES, BIGGER THAN YOURS YOU MORON”.
And I looked at her looking at him all wide eyed, and my tongue was beginning to bleed. But I didn’t do anything. Rules are rules. Actually, no, it had nothing to do with any rules. I just realized blood in my mouth is better than blood on the ground.
He was well built, yes he was.
ACT II - Queer folk at a coffee house
I’ve been spending more and more time at a neighbouring coffee house. My temporary not-really-legitimately acquired internet connection at home worked out to be a lot more temporary than I’d originally imagined, and I needed a quick fix. Anyway, spending entire days in coffee houses gives you the chance to meet with the most interesting sorts of people. And by “meet interesting people”, I also include (arguably unintentional) spying upon the odd behaviour of very different sorts of people — from the nose picking (yet strangely alluring) blue haired goth chick to the 80 year old man with a Bible trying to get you to convert with the promise of a free meal.
So, last evening, for about 3 hours, I got to listen to a couple of gay friends talk about their respective recent string of dates. In mind blowing detail I might add. And no, don’t look at me like that, they were 2 feet away too, and I didn’t carry my headphones. Anyway, I’d always assumed it’d probably gross me out hearing the… let’s just call it “cuddle chemistry” (you don’t even want to know where I picked up that term) details when it came to a couple of men. But no, it didn’t bother me in the least and seemed totally natural and genuinely sweet at points.
(But then again, continuing in such a manner, there is a good chance I will say something that I’d rather not have “archived forever” on the internet, so I’d rather change the tone just a bit, and move on to the next act of our little monologue.)
And oh my god, I didn’t realize the sorts of things people are capable of noticing about you. Firstly, men aren’t supposed to know and use colours like “mauve” in conversations, and secondly, you don’t dump someone because the underside of their sole was not of a certain colour scheme match with their belt strap. Or, should you?
ACT III - Pr0n in Chinatown
Now this is probably the weirdest of these three. Like I was saying a few days ago, parts of Boston under the “theatre” district apparently almost completely shut down on Monday evenings. And I was hungry, so as I was idly walking around looking for a place to grab a bite. I stumbled into Boston’s Chinatown, and this shady looking, you guessed it, Chinese place. But I figured I would try it since hadn’t too much of a choice.
I walked in on the not-so-busy wait staff enjoying and excitedly commenting on some seriously oriental pr0n right there on a TV viewable to all customers. Now the weird part was that it didn’t seem to bother anyone that a customer had walked in, and they dealt with me as they would any other customer given any other circumstance. Even weirder still, were this flick was running with extreme subtitiles, complete with “oooh”s and “mmmm”s and such. And the weirdest part was I wasn’t entirely sure if this was some scene in which the woman was being raped or whether she was being pleasured. Yes, it was of such stupendous quality.
The kinds of things I run into at times surprises me. And oh, the food wasn’t all that bad either.
And may I reiterate — Man it feels good to be able to write again.