Saint Patrick’s Day is one of my family’s favorite holidays, so I decided to write two stories about it. I drank a shitload of beer, whiskey and everything else, so I decided to wait until my hangover passed until I wrote this…five months late. You can read the backstory here.
The month of March hurt me pretty bad, so I hurt my liver pretty bad. By drinking. On this particular March 17th, a couple buddies and I hit the bars.
For the first few drinks, my friends tried to monitor me. They knew I hurt pretty bad from my grandpa’s recent passing, so they tried to ask me about it and I magically changed the subject every time it came up. Then around midnight we did an impromptu countdown to ring in St. Paddy’s Day, which the bar loved because that meant I bought a bunch of Jameson shots. Only, I wasn’t with a bunch people, so I took most of them by myself.
Even though "my Irish was up" I didn’t break down crying or get violent, so my friends decided I was doing alright. And I was. Then things started to get weird.
As I took another shot of Jameson and washed it down with Jameson on the rocks (at least I think it was Jameson; it could have been shitty whiskey from a plastic bottle or Coke-and-rubbing-alcohol), a girl who looked like a young Sarah Palin sat next to me.
I was really drunk and thought I had a pretty sure shot at getting laid, so I figured I would hate-fuck her for her crude homophobia.Now usually when a girl sits down next to me, she says, "Hey, handsome. What are you up to?" or "Come here often?" or "Want to buy me a drink?" or "You’re in my seat you stupid drunken retard!"
However, Sarah "Nailin’" Palin (from now on to be known as Nailin) scooched up to me and dropped this line: "Hey. Are you gay?"
I lived in Manhattan for a long time. Gay dudes, straight dudes, and girls of all orientations asked me this question from time to time. I also was asked quite a bit if I’m Jewish. I’m neither. But, I have the utmost respect for both. I answered, "Nope. Why?"
"I just don’t want to waste my time. You’re very pretty and relatively well-dressed," Nailin answered. "Are you offended?"
"Not really. You called me ‘pretty’ and said I was ‘relatively well-dressed.’ I actually stole this t-shirt from my brother who I think stole it from a guy who worked for a moving van company. Would you be offended if I told you I thought you looked kind of like that pornstar that dresses up like Sarah Palin?"
The GOP never prided themselves on brains. "I’m from Canada."
"I’m just not easily offended."
I shrugged my shoulders and we exchanged a few more sentences in which the copious amounts of whiskey I drank that night probably killed the brain cells that were supposed to remember that stuff.
"How old are you?" Nailin asked.
"Wow, you don’t look it."
"Yeah. Well, my fake crows’ feet are starting to come in, so say my bratty little students."
"You care about crows’ feet? Are you sure you’re not a fag?"
I was a little surprised and a lot less-than-impressed with her dropping the "fag bomb." But, I was really drunk and thought I had a pretty sure shot at getting laid, so I figured I would hate-fuck her for her crude homophobia. Or just disappoint her in the sack whilst drunk. Or, whatever.
"Actually, they’re not really crows’ feet," I said. "They’re fake. I used to be a bouncer and got in a lot of fights. You notice I only have them on my left eye? Or at least they’re only really bad on the left eye?"
"You’re sounding a lot gayer," Nailin replied.
Really? I thought.
"Well, somebody decided they wanted to smash my face on a rock, so when everything healed up, it looked like I kind of had crows’ feet. And I guess all the wrestling didn’t help either. I still wrestle…"
"Yeah. It’s fun. I stay in shape and…"
"Are you sure you’re not gay?"
"Did you not just hear me tell a story about kicking ass? Or getting my ass kicked? Not that gay guys don’t, because I’ve known a few, but…"
"There you go again. Talking all gay."
Again, generally, after all the oddly homophobic remarks I probably would have just walked away. But, I kind of wanted to get laid, and this girl did seem pretty slutty. And I figured I’d never see her again, so I thought I could get all Tucker Max-douchey with her and not feel bad about it.
Nailin made a phone call as I planned my next move. I didn’t pay attention because I didn’t really care. Also, it took all of my brain power to think of this move and one-liner.
"Do you think this is gay?" I whispered, and then started making out with her and massaging her thigh.
She responded positively: "I live close to here. Let’s leave and go to my place."
Immediately Nailin and I made out some more, hopped in a taxi, disgusted the cabbie with more making out, and walked into her apartment. I probably should have paid attention to where we were going, because I may have ended up in a bathtub of ice without my kidneys, but again, my dick was thinking. Not me. Although, I’m relatively sure I paid for the cab.
Her place ended up being pretty nice. Most teachers in Korea are provided with semi-decent living quarters. Hers were a lot better than mine. We made out some more and then she said, "I’m so glad you’re not a homo. Why don’t you sit here, get warmed up while I freshen up?"
"I’ll fuck you right now if it will make you think I’m less gay," I offered.
"Give me a few minutes. Warm yourself up, you big stud."
I don’t think I’ve ever been called a "stud" before. I was pretty okay with it.
I sat around thinking about whether or not I should text message my friends about my odd luck and then I heard a knock at the door. A lot of knocks. Hard ones.
"Uh, Nailin, are you expecting company?"
All I heard was incomprehensible gurgling from the bathroom. Maybe she was brushing her teeth?
The bathroom door opened slowly.
"Uh, Nailin, do you have, um, roommates?"
"Mmm-puh-twa. No, I invited some friends over?"
"Yeah, don’t worry."
"Um, I’m actually kind of worried."
Why? Because she’d been dropping slurs on me all night, seemed pretty weird, was Canadian, and then some more dudes walked in. Big dudes. Big dudes who seemed like they either didn’t like gay people, or big dudes who seemed like they liked other dudes encroaching on their girl.
Nailin left the bathroom just as the four dudes walked in and she took me aside and murmured, "This isn’t what it looks like."
"I’m not even sure what it looks like."
"I made a phone call in the bar to some friends about having a dance party."
"I don’t know what the hell that means in Canada."
"It means I want to have a dance party."
"It feels like I’m either going to get my ass kicked, or you’re getting a train run on your ass. Either way, I’m either not drunk enough for this or too drunk for this."
"Oh come on. Don’t be such a faggot."
"Uh, a guy-guy-guy-guy-guy-girl sex party isn’t what I call ‘straight.’ I’m not going to lie, you’re not going to get laid tonight. …At least, not from me. Have a good one."
I patted her on the shoulder and put my shoes on.
"Can I at least get your number?" she sort of begged.
"Really? You know what, I’ll call you."
"You don’t have my number though!" Now she kind of whined.
"I’m sure we’ll see each other soon." Which I hoped wasn’t true.
I bid my farewells to the foursome of dudes and exited the apartment, quickly realizing I had no money, and no idea where I was. So I walked around for a while wondering where the eff I was until I found a bus or a subway—I don’t really remember which one but I do remember I passed out next to an old man and hiccupped almost to the point of vomiting. I eventually stumbled home an undisclosed amount of time later, swearing to myself I’d never drink again or talk to a Canadian. I also hoped I’d never see Nailin again.
The next day was St. Paddy’s and ended up being another drunkfest, another long story you can read here.
Meanwhile, here’s a quickie for ya:
I was in the same bar a week or two later. I had just finished working out, so I felt pretty pumped. (Also, most Korean people are pretty small around the shoulders, so t-shirts usually end up looking like baby clothes on me.) I felt a caress on my arm. "Hey boy, your shirt looks tight and you look like a fag."