Let me just say this: I was recently in a straight bar (like a really straight bar – the kind where they play sports on the television sets, and the women don’t need permission to speak) and after a few white wines, I actually had to (and by “had to” I mean “vitally required urgently to, as if by medical prescription”) excuse myself to the restroom to put on my headphones and listen to Lady Gaga…
That is the level of homosexuality we are dealing with here, people. I just wanted you to know. Like, it’s bad.
Seriously – Guys were pounding on the door, needing to pee, and I was like, “Hang the shit on, man!!! Just one more chorus!!! Jesus!!!”
Anyway. I know this blahg post is coming to you waaaay past deadline, and I apologize. But I have good reason for being so scarce for so long. I’ve been busy working on an exciting new business venture. I don’t really wanna get into it now – for contractual reasons, mainly – but I will say that it involves drinking and fried food… Ok, fine. I’ve been getting drunk a lot and eating lots of fried food. Ok, fine. It’s not a very good excuse. But ya know what? Who are you to judge me?!
This weekend was a real bastard. Are you sitting down? Are the children out of the room? Are you naked? My iPhone was stolen! It was late Saturday/early Sunday, and after a sensible sixteen cocktails and a few shots and one of those Mike's Hard Lemonades and maybe a nightcap, I somehow may have nodded off a little on the N train back to Astoria. I was listening to Bette Midler’s “Some People” from Gypsy '93. The last thing I remember hearing was “88 bucks, papa” and then before she could get-her-kids-OUT, the music stopped. I suddenly came to, looked down and it was gone. And I was too drunk to even get a look at the Mexican guy who took it.
Now you’re probably saying to yourselves, “Randy… That story is oddly similar to the one about how you lost your virginity.” And you’re right. The parallels are almost uncanny. However, this story has a somewhat happier ending, in that for $200 I was able to replace my iPhone.
The funny thing is that the first thought to enter my head once I realized my phone had been stolen was, Oh god. Whoever has it is going to be either really confused or really judgmental about my music collection. Like that was my only concern - that some thug is gonna be judgy about my gay musical choices. WHY, OH WHY did Bette Midler have to pop on right before it was taken!?!?
So anyway, the point is: if you happen to see a suspicious-looking hood-rat walking down the street, singing along to every version of "Rose's Turn" ever recorded... shoot to kill.
Thank you in advance for your help in this matter.