hipp(it)y hop

Point # 1:

I had the best first date of my ever last night with hippy boy... laundromats, wine, garlic pizza, beer.

It was not at all what I expected and I didn't want it to end.

He's great, and smart, and slightly odd, and he smells nice, and I felt safe and normal and understood and stuff.

I don't know about sexy, though. I don't think I was very sexy. Which is kinda shitty.

I'm all sorts of crushed out and don't know what to do with it. He's exactly the person i was looking for.

Also, I look like I was recently wrestling with a lamprey.

Point # 2:

Racecar boy and I went out to the hippity hoppity bar tonight, and as we were discussing gender and how I frequently discomfit people, I made a point of smiling at and making eye contact with the biggest 'thuggiest' guy in the room.

I find that it's easier to confront these things right away rather than try to hide from something that could be uncomfy.

And he'd been staring at me for half an hour, so I thought I'd give him the opportunity to say something.

He took me up on it, waltzed on over and said "hey man, what's your problem?!?"

I said "nothin, man - I'm just having a good time"

he looked me up and down.

"what's your gender?"

"I'm a girl. Wanna see my ID?"

"yeah, right. and I'm LDS."

"No way, man... I really am a girl." (I pull back my button-down and try to show some boob through my t-shirt. This seemed like a good idea at the time.)

he turns to uber-male racecar boy sitting next to me.

"You a girl too?"

"No, man. I'm a guy."

much looking at my chest and RCBs crotch.

"uh, can I see those?" (gesturing at my boobs)

"No way, man, I don't even know you." (said with my best knock-em-dead grin)

blink.

blink.

(oh shit, I think. this could go a couple of different ways. I'm not liking my odds right now.)

he looks me right in the eye, and goes from stony glare to big genuine smile.

"Hey girl, you're all right. I'm the owner here, and you have a good time, okay? I'm glad you came in."

"thanks, man. I'm having a great time. nice place you have."

geez.

now i have to go theorize race and gender, and try to articulate why I feel safer showing my boobs to a black man with a gun than I do to an abercrombied-out frat boy.

he gets mad props for asking the question everyone else was (possibly) thinking.

and now I'm exhausted.







I'd really like hippy boy to call me back.