Coffee, Tea or Flee?

I went to a "gay" coffee house/book store tonight. I know, you're saying to yourself "Coffee has a gender?" Sure! Why not? We live in a world where people like Ashton Kutcher are considered actors, so why can't our coffee have a "sexual preference"...at least for the purpose of this blog. And by "gay" I mean that the establishment is in a predominately gay neighborhood, thus frequently by predominantly gay cliental. Not Gen Y's "gay" which seems to be what they consider just about anything that they aren't familiar with. Here's by observations from last night, as transcribed from my journal:

Two very thin, but cute guys are sitting across from me signing. Very peaceful, interesting and somehow sexy. Makes me wonder if the situation ever arose, would/could I date a deaf guy. I think I would. I guess, like anything else, it would depend on the individual. Seems like anytime I have seen deaf gay men in this area, they seem to travel in little groups (Mental note: Do a group of gay men have a name? You know, like a murder of crows or a gaggle of geese? Hmm. How about "pod?"....no, that's whales I think. I know! Let's refer to them as a "globe" of gay deaf men. 'g' to signify the gay aspect and 'lobe' as an ear reference. I like it!). So, anyway, this one time I saw this globe of guys hanging out in front of this gay bar (I call them all bars, not "clubs") and they were acting REALLY whorey, which kinda caught me by surprise. I guess I never think about there being deaf whores. I digress. The two deaf guys begin taking turns writing their conversation down on a small wirebound notepad, which they are passing back and forth to each other across the table. This is what I'm wondering: Does the owner of the pad keep the pages with the conversation on it after they're through? Or does he simply throw them away? I'm tempted to ask, but I don't want to appear insane. It's just the idea of being able to conjure up old conversation with someone, a 'hardcopy' if you will, intrigues me. I can just imagine a box at home filled with used notepads, napkins, flyers, with stuff scribbled on them, like: "Frank Bradford: July 1983" You could never really "forget" a memory because you would always be able to refer back to it. On the down side, though, I guess it could also be kinda depressing or even incriminating.

Ooh, look, W.A.S.P. Boys in Da 'Hood. Your "street cred" kinda goes out the window when you see some really fruity guy in a do-rag, who weighs 80lbs say "aight" or "peace out." I don't get it. Reminds me of that time in college, in history class when the sorority chick behind me told her pal Lemon Spongecake or whatever her name was, "don't be dissin' me." That SO doesn't work. It's official. Some people are just TOO white. *Mental note: Do NOT order the papaya tea ever again. Gag. This stuff tastes like licorice and bug repellent.

Now that's just creepy. It's around 10:30 and a little kid (9 or 10? I never know with kids.) just walked by, on his way to the bathroom. What's THAT about? I mean, he doesn't appear to be with anyone (i.e. a parent/guardian). That's just wrong. What kind of parent let's their kid wander around the neighborhood and hang out in a gay bookstore at this time of night? I mean, Sesame Street this ain't....unless Mr. Hooper was in reality a bold n' sassy pothead with a penchant for concealer. Nah.

Lol! As I was walking to my car, there's these 3 people (2 guys and a girl...I wanna say "fag hag" but the term always kinda turned me off. I guess because I never really got the whole "hag" aspect.) talking as their getting into their car and one of the guys is saying "...you know? I mean if you're going to be my friend...be..." then the other guy and girl say in unison (as if on the same wavelength) "real!" And he's like "yeah!" (They SO 'get' him! Deep). The irony? These people "keepin' it real" all have on enough skin care products to choke a gay moose. Plus: dyed hair, strategically placed baseball caps, Hot Topic wardrobe and generic Celtic/barbed wire/XXX-style bicep tattoos and misc. nose/eyebrow/tongue piercings....getting into a friggin' Jeep Cherokee. Way to go Stepford clones. If it gets any more "real" the cookie cutter might just burst.