Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Bean-O (Or, A Story So Old It Hurts)

Once upon a time (ten years ago, exactly), I lived in Boston. Well, I actually lived in Boston from 1994-1999, but the story I'm about to relate is decidedly from 1997.

In the summer of 1997, I was newly single after a long relationship. I found myself out on the town (as much as one can be in that town), drinking it up in a variety of locales that I'd previously had no use for since I was committed, married, a co-owner of furniture and artwork, all that. I was unused to going to gay bars alone and ended up talking to anyone who spoke to me first.

Anyway, one of the first times someone flirted with me/chatted me up/tried to pick me up was a harrowing experience to say the least. Here's how it went down (keep in mind: Boston):

STRANGER: Heah, how are ya?

ME: What's up?

STRANGER: You aaaah wicked cute. Whaaaat is yaaaah naame?

ME: Trevor.

STRANGER: Hiyah Trevaaah. My name's Maaaaag.

ME: What?


ME: Mag?


ME: M-A-G?

STRANGER: (laughs) No. M-A-AAAA-K

ME: Oh, hi Mark.


Diesel said...

Funny story. Welcome to :)

masshole luvah said...

no suh! that story is a wicked pissah.

R. said...

Doood! Which queeah baaah did you wawk inta? Fuken southie or sum'n? Any idear?

TM said...

i'm pretty sure it was ye olde boston cliché/club sogay/club lamé.

a place so bad, they named it twice.

at least you can watch T.V. there.

Q. said...

next time just go straight down to the esplanade or the fens.