All I wanted was a pitcher of margaritas and a patio to drink it on.
After a particular grueling week ethically wrangling a bunch of doctors, this was the first thing I thought when I woke up to a beautiful day on Saturday. Some yelp research and boyfriend bickering later, the two of us along with a friend whose roommate had sexiled him to the streets, head out of Margtown. We get there and the margs are too expensive for what they are and there is no outdoor seating. I am cranky especially since it had just taken 45 minutes to hail a cab and get there.
We start to wander discussing the nature of the “sobering hills” of San Francisco. I decide that Sobering Hills sounds like a subdivision of cookie cutter houses you find in the suburbs. But seriously, 2 hills of SF and the buzz is knocked out of you.
We see up ahead a sign that says “30 specialty tequilas!” and literally without even asking each other we just turn and walk into this place.
We drink and drink and talk and drink and talk and fight a little but mostly just talk and drink and laugh. Its about 2 hours in that we realize it’s a gay bar. We don’t care, they have a patio. We didn’t realize though that everyone else DEFINITELY cared that we were there.
Its getting later and I am getting drunker. I have met a flight attendant from my hometown (Nashville) and we are trying to figure out someone we both know to talk shit about. No such luck. We were all sitting outside in a conversation area as follows:
Okay so I realize that I was probably being loud talking over people but not so loud that I would have been disturbing anyone other than my own boyfriend, who was actively engaged in a conversation with a man clearly trying to convince him of some sort of religious hooey.
Then, to my right, this aging Vietnam veteran transsexual who I had talked to off and on all night procedes to tell me that a dark cloud has been over the bar since my friends and I came in. She was offended that I was talking about Nashville in front of her because she couldn’t join in on that conversation. She told me it’s rude of me and how this and other reasons she’s noticed from watching me makes me the epitome of everything that is wrong with my generation. A mature adult would never talk about something that not everyone in the group could talk about.
Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue. I’m sorry but since when do I carry with me a 57 year old war veteran transsexual with PTSD and apparently boundary issues whose needs I should concern myself with addressing?
I’m opening my mouth to start my “Listen bitch….” Rant when my attention is called by the person to my LEFT who wants to tell me how much he hates me. This whole time my boyfriend has been listening to this man tell him he is a part of God and how I am all wrong for him because I am lost in my conversation with the people to my right and don’t even know that they exist. He procedes to tell me that I am a sorry excuse for a girlfriend and a friend at that. My boyfriend here is a part of God and is very special. I, however, could be a part of God. The implications are clear.
What the fuck is wrong with this place? I have never been anywhere where people are just so open and honest about telling strangers that they hate them. And it was all directled at me! I am not a bad person! Sorta.
Oh yeah and sometime during all of this my friend across from me got really wasted and fell off the barstool he had dragged outside. It was time to boogey.
Trans-asaurus Rex asked for my phone number though. Wants to have lunch for some reason. Wonder if she’ll call.
