Sorry, I'm not your type...

February 26, 2002

One evening at the Ruby Room, I tried to get the bartender to make these random drinks, �Have you ever heard of a Beautiful? What about Three Wise Men? Just give me a rum and coke then�� while my friends watched a tall, willowy Asian woman in tight leather pants stick her ass in the air as she bent over to take a shot. Evidently, she was a pretty good pool player. She cycled through four or five men (including one of my friends) while we�uh�they watched. However, I must have missed her kissing her girlfriend.

Another woman, for some reason, sat at our table and chatted with my friend (the same one who lost to Asian leather butt girl, coincidentally) for a while, before talking to me. She was about mid to late 30s and pretty damn drunk. The Ruby Room is one of the few places in Oakland that plays different kinds of music without resorting to live groups, so it�s rather loud.

I had a hard time understanding what she was saying. Something about her house, her vacation, the random things she did on her vacation, how my voice was surprisingly deep, how I was too analytical, and about e.e. cummings, stuff like that. I was convinced she was blitzed out, not just by drink, but by her enigmatic half-confessions. One part of me wanted to move to another table, having met quite a few crazies in my life, but another part of me recognized someone a little lost, and I just didn�t have a heart to send her away.

Instead, I tried to sober her up. She talked about driving, and I didn�t like the idea of this woman smashed up somewhere. So I got her some water and kept chatting with her. I don�t remember much of the remaining conversation, probably more of the same. Then she asked me if we could get some air, and I followed her out the bar. Did she grab my wrist? I can�t remember, I just knew something was up as we walked out into the cold night air.

�Hmm.� She said. �You look completely different out in the light.�

�Oh? How so?� I was waiting for the usual disclaimer of bad lighting, thinking I was better looking, or younger, or older, or what not.

�I thought you were a girl.�

I smiled because it was funny. I felt bad for her, and apologized because she looked so disappointed. She tried to remember a story by e.e. cummings, but couldn�t come up with it. Instead, she kissed me on the cheek, thanked me for talking with her, and drove off.