- 4:49 p.m.
The following graphic WILL have meaning, it will just take 1200 words until you find out WHAT the meaning is.
I just returned from a LARGE PUBLIC GATHERING situation and I think I might have an even-more severe case of LARS “Lesbian Acting Really Screwy” than previously thought.
Let me be the first to “come to the front of the line”, “top of the morning”, “early-bird gets the worm” and be the one to tell you that I’m not a big fan of Public Displays of affection. Not between women and women, men and women, pets and their owners, mothers and their children… none of them.
It just makes me uncomfortable in a “my mother never loved me” kind of way.
My therapist (ish) tells me/I tell her that it’s something I should work on, but just not right now when so many other issues are screaming for attention.
For the love of cheese, I must prioritize my issues and discuss whatever thing is causing the most swelling or discomfort when “therapy(ish)” day arrives each week. One week, I might have been breezing through with no MMC (Mother/Mutha Contact), then all of a sudden I’ll get a call from one of my siblings recounting a situation and I’ll feel the need to jump into the fray and the next thing you know, It’s all about my Mother/Mutha.
Actually, I shouldn’t call her my Mother/Mutha, as I’ve worked past that… we no longer call her “Crazy Shirley” (Shirley, not even her name) and we realize that “she did the best she could”. At least she didn’t :
a) drown/murder us
b) stay. She could have stayed. Leaving was the best thing she could have ever done.
c) Give everything she owned to a svengali-like cult guy. Wait, she DID do that.
Oh, I’m digressing.
Anyway, siblings (6 of them), Mother/Mutha (only the one) and svengali-cult guys aside, I was discussing my displeasure with the whole “I can’t live another minute without leaning on/kissing/hugging/whispering/rubbing/cajoling/massaging/giving a chiropractic adjustment to… their companion.
Get a room. Or, if my watching/observing you is part of YOUR fun, then for the sake of all things sake-able, compensate me for my services. Throw me a bill. Hand me a stick of gum, offer me a free small serving of fat-free yogurt with one topping. Whatever.
So… back to the LARGE PUBLIC GATHERING situation:
People were roaming and meandering and chit-chatting and my girlfriend/lesbian-lover/same-sex partner/meal-ticket and I roamed/meandered/chit-chatted as well.
Upon leaving this LARGE PUBLIC GATHERING, the attendees gathered in small manageable groups to wait for the elevators to take us to our waiting cars in the parking structure. (don't even get me started on the terror/possibility of being trapped in a parking structure)
While waiting, I noticed a few sets of “leaners” or “huggers” passing the time by leaning or hugging. I stood a good “3 fingers distance” from my lady, as it was not my intention to be a leaner or a hugger. I looked around also to see if anyone was sniffling, coughing or itching, as I didn’t want to be confined in a 6 x 6 steel tomb with anyone who might be throwing me some illness-shade.
I noticed a girl who might be getting a rash on her neck, pointed it out to my girlfriend......meal-ticket and we decided that the rash was probably past the point of contagiousness, and if we situated ourselves at the opposite end of the elevator from her, we’d be okay. Truthfully, I think this conversation about rash-girl might have actually taken place completely in my head, between me and myself, as my girlfriend would not have participated in this particular diagnoses/neurosis. She has to carefully pick WHICH NEUROSIS to participate/engage in. It’s a plethora of NEUROSIS with me as your companion.
Back to the elevator-waiting.
The first elevator arrived and people crammed in, as if it were the last plane out of somewhere that wasn’t going to have any more planes leaving for a while.
I grabbed my girlfriends’ arm and did the sideways head motion-thing pointing to Elevator #2. We managed to get onto Elevator #2 with little effort and were accompanied by a Tall, Tall Thin man and his much, much shorter (anyone would have been shorter) female companion. I could tell she was a leaner and I was concerned where her leaning might "place her" on her much tall, taller thin male companion. I worried like a kid worries when they are approaching the “you must be taller than THIS” sign at amusement parks. I worried that her face might only reach his… well, quite frankly, his genitals (even though they were surely encased in a layer of undergarments and a layer of wool gabardine, they would still be his genitals under there).
I was wrong. She reached his abdomen (which could still be a turn-on for him and other abdomen-centric folks) and indeed, she leaned. She hummed and leaned. He looked down at her, and for the sake of all things "non-cliche" he didn’t rest his drink on the top of her head (he didn’t have a drink) and the moment was theirs. I’m pretty sure I heard deep sighs from both of them. Happiness in the elevator with Tall, Tall Thin Man and his much, much shorter female companion.
They de-elevator-ed on level 3 (how predictable!) and then…. It was just THE 2 LEZZIES in the elevator. Alone. Oh, no. I felt it. I felt my girlfriends glance (that’s quite a glance) and I knew she thought she could get away with SOMETHING... ANYTHING because we were 2 LEZZIES ALONE IN THE ELEVATOR.
I, of course, KNEW we were being monitored by the SECURITY TEAM high above us in an overly-air conditioned room with dozens of monitors and video-surveillance situations that would capture our every move. While wondering WHAT the prison-time would be for public affection(ish) in an elevator and if they’d “Haul us downtown” for it, my lady seized the moment and planted one, a big one (with a side of fries), on me.
This is where the RED SHOE DIARIES episode ends, I’m afraid, as just then, the elevator doors opened and in came, you guessed it, a security guard. I KNEW he’d seen it. It was probably being replayed on all the monitors throughout the building. It was probably being simulcast on the internet (check out my webcam!) as well as the JUMBO TRON in Times Square.
I lowered my head and grabbed my fresh/frisky girlfriend saying, “this is our floor” as if we needed a doctors note in order to exit the elevator. The security guy held the door and told us to “have a nice day”(which I thought he said: Have a nice GAY)
In conclusion: Can you imagine what a pain in the ass it is to be my girlfriend/ lesbian-lover/same-sex partner/meal-ticket?