Wherein I make myself look like a bitchy queen

So, I was out for a drink on Tuesday with Josh and Aalon. We decided to go to a kind of dive-y gay bar out in Cambridge, because sometimes you just don't want to be surrounded by muscle queens. Or former muscle queens, who've had thousands of dollars in plastic surgery. They always want to tell you about their fabulous condo which they just renovated, and how the neighborhood is really great too, if you just ignore the shootings and gang fights at 3 a.m., but those won't be a problem once that developer buys out the housing project down the block and turns it into another luxury condo complex, so it really isn't that bad, and it was such a great investment, and those poor people can find somewhere else to live easily enough.

Can you tell that I really don't have a fond place in my heart for the South End overly-moneyed fags? (And I get to say that, since I'm gay, so nyah!) They're Boston's equivalent of NYC's Chelsea Boys. And, for the most part, they make my skin crawl.

Anyway, we wanted to get away from the trendy gay spots, and venture a bit off the beaten path. I was thrilled as soon as we sat down and I found out they had Sam Adams on tap. Is there anything better than Sam Adams draught? (I guess in some ways I really am a Beantown Boy, as much as I hate to admit it.) We had a fun night of chatting, laughing at the ridiculous 80's porn that was being shown, and making fun of Josh's froufrou drink selections. Then, things took on a bit of a Sex in the City vibe. I swear, I must have fallen into some sort of parallel universe based on the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw.

First, I was outside having a cigarette, minding my own business. (I know, I know, it's disgusting. But oh boy, did I suffer for that cigarette.) All of a sudden, these two straight girls came out of the bar and started asking me what kind of men I liked, why I wasn't putting money in the male strippers' speedos, and whether I was really gay. Then one of them told me that I was the best looking one in there, and asked me to show them my "goods." (She didn't phrase the request so politely.) What?! I'm wearing bootcut jeans with embroidered embellishments, I have Morrissey hair, I'm standing in front of a gay bar, and a woman is asking to see my "goods"? Granted, she at least complimented me first, but still. What!?

So I ran inside to tell my cohorts what had happened, when I discovered that one of those 50 year old guys who's had too much botox -- and thus looks like a plasticized version of a badly aged 30 year old -- had taken my seat, and was hitting on both Josh and Aalon. I waited for him to get up, took my seat, and told them about the trauma that had unfolded outside.

Then, just as I was finishing my story, some guy came up behind me, started rubbing my back, and whispered in my ear "Hey baby, you like how that feels?" I reacted with a facial contortion that can only be produced by an unseen guy rubbing your back and whispering in your ear after you've had a few beers. Then I turned around and saw that it was the plastic-faced guy who had taken my seat. Aalon and Josh instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter and I tried desperately to give him a nice, "Sorry, but I go for guys who are a bit more on the chubby side of things," without finishing it with, "and by the way, WHO THE HELL rubs a stranger's back without permission?" Clearly, not somebody who was very successful at come-ons. So I really wanted to be gentle about letting him down, despite the creep-out factor.

Unfortunately, when I meant to say "chubby", I instead said "bigger". Which wouldn't have been a faux pas, if not for the fact that he was *ahem* a bit on the short side of things. He kind of fumbled with his drink, mumbled something and walked away. And I felt like a gigantic asshole. But seriously -- seriously -- why would you do that to a stranger?

The thing is, if he hadn't been trying so desperately to look younger than he was and to act suave, he actually would've been kind of cute. I like older guys. I especially like older guys who aren't afraid to come up and start talking. I don't, however, like older guys who try to refuse the aging process, or any guy who starts groping before he starts talking. Especially if they start groping before you're able to see who's starting to perv out on you.

So, to Creepy Plastic-faced Back Rubbing Guy: I'm sorry, I really wasn't trying to insult your height, and I didn't mean to be rude. But next time, say "Hi" before putting your hands on a stranger's person, and maybe approach them from the front so they can actually see you. And for the love of god, go easy on the Botox.