I was hell bent on seeing United 93. I just had to wait until I got back from LA. Not that anyone’s going to hijack a Southwest commuter flight out of Oakland, but I’m prone to paranoia on a good day and I held out until yesterday morning. Having nothing better to do, Mikey joined me, and we settled into our seats ready to be wowed by this movie that’s receiving rave reviews from everyone alive.
To read about United 93, you’d think that all of a sudden, someone somehow put September 11th into new perspective with a camera and a cast of unknowns. Other than the lady tearfully relaying the combination to her safe on someone’s answering machine, which I will admit got to me, I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s basically the same as the A&E version, just a little less schmaltzy. Maybe I’m desensitized because I’m slightly 9/11 obsessed, reading and watching anything pertaining to any aspect of it. But I don’t see what the big deal is.
Disappointed by the movie, the most exciting part of our morning was seeing a plumbing van upside down in the middle of the freeway.
Recently, Mike had to take some seminar for his job about how to read his clients personalities. Apparently, there are 4 kinds of people, and Mike enjoys pulling out his charts and explaining to anyone willing to listen which personality type they are. I, as I have been told 300 times this weekend, am a “Socializer.” Mikey is a “Relater.” I’m gregarious and respond to flattery. He’s stable and passive. And we both want everyone to like us. We just go about it differently. Mike's irritation is aggressive behavior. Apparently, I hate being bored. Which is why we ended up at the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park yesterday afternoon, dissing United 93 and sipping “juice” out of water bottles. We were quite pleased with ourselves for being so cultured on a Saturday afternoon, and pretended to enjoy water lilies before enjoying the best parts of the tea garden: the snacks you get with the tea and the giftshop.
Our afternoon of new experiences and drinks wouldn’t be complete without a trip to a gay bar. As we drove home through the Castro, we passed the Midnight Sun.
“Oh, I used to hang out there all the time. They have a fabulous Happy Hour.”
“Really? I’ve never been to a gay bar.”
“Nope. Wanna go?”
I love you, roommate.
Mike bravely entered, but refused to be left alone, so we grabbed our drinks and found space at one of the standing tables in the middle of the bar, which features huge TV screens everywhere playing random clips and videos of a gay nature. Basically, it’s lots of Cher, Will and Grace and random SNL sketches about queens. At one point, I went up to the bar to grab another glass of wine and sashayed up next to two guys.
“Oh my god, we were just talking about you.”
“Really?” I smiled at them, delighted.
“Yeah. See, I’m straight and I was trying to decide which one of us is the alpha male in here. Me or you.”
Oh my god.
“That’s just great. Thanks.”
The other one leaned in. “Ignore him. He likes you.”
“Gay men always do, sweetheart.”
“I’m telling you. I’m not gay.” He protested. “Want me to prove it?”
“Ewwww. I’m gonna take a pass on that one.”
The nice one dove in. “So, we were actually trying to decide if you’re on a wacky date or you’re just a really understanding sister.”
We all looked over at Mike, nervously standing alone in the middle of The Midnight Sun.
“Neither. That’s my roommate. He’s straight and this is his first time in a gay bar.”
Mike walked over. “Um, don’t leave me.”
“Relax roommate. We’re buying your drinks.” The straight guy was a cocky bastard, but confirmed his sexuality by wearing pleat front khaki shorts. He was there with his best friend and business partner, an adorable gay. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“I’m Beth. And this is Michael.”
Of course you are.
“And this is Russ.”
Chris and Russ proceeded to buy us drink after drink, apparently owning a very successful financial business of some sort. I didn’t really understand it, other than the fact that Chris kept telling me how much he made. They actually offered Mike a job, promising him obscene sums of cash if he left his bank and came to work for them.
We eventually stumbled home, pushing our way past the gays hoping for hookups at the front door.
“That was quite a gay bar experience, Mikey.”
“That was fucking crazy. How long were we in there?”
“Beats me. But I’m exhausted. We’ve got to go home.”
“God.” Mike sighed. “You’re such an alpha male…”