Not much to report right now, as all I can think and talk about is the fact that I'm leaving for Italy Friday morning. There is still so much to be done first. Like pack. And learn at least a few Italian phrases. I have the world's best Italian language phrasebook. It's published by Lonely Planet, who I love, and it has some funny shit in it...things I'm fairly certain I'll never use over there. It explains how to say the usual tourist stuff, like "Where's the train station?", etc. But it includes some other key phrases you won't find in many high-school language textbooks:
Dove sono dei locali gay?
-Where are the gay venues?
E un bastardo.
-He's a bastard.
E una cagna.
-She's a bitch.
Posso accompagnarti a casa?
-Can I take you home?
Hai un preservativo?
-Do you have a condom?
Non mi si raddrizza. Mi dispiace.
-I can't get it up. Sorry.
Non Credo in Dio.
-I don't believe in God.
Ti amo molto molto.
-I really, really love you. (The best part about this phrase is that it's listed in the section called, "One too many" in the beverage/alcohol section of the phrasebook.)
Mi sento un po' ubriaca.
Tirami il dito.
-Pull my finger. (Also in the "One too many" section.)
Speaking of being drunk, I went out with some people Saturday night and, although it was a big group of gay people (with a couple exceptions) we went to an almost exclusively straight bar. This was the first time in a long time that I've been to a bar that wasn't at least a little gay, and talk about culture shock! Straight people are funny, especially straight, single men who are out after midnight trying desperately to find some woman to hook up with before last call. It was more like an anthropological observation for me than it was a night out drinking, as all I could really do was watch people in amazement. It's interesting to me how quickly something can become so foreign. It's only been a few years since I came out, so it's not like I've never been to a straight bar. First of all, straight men are the world's worst dancers. The worst. They just look goofy and gangly. And uncomfortable. Also, everyone there, men and women, looked so desperate for a hook-up, not to mention an actual relationship. There's nothing quite like the unmistakable look of desperation in the eyes of a late-twenty and thirty-something straight, single person who has only one objective: marriage. I guess that in the straight world, marriage is still posed as the end-all, be-all of existence and if you don't achieve that, you are considered flawed. Whereas, because gays and lesbians have always been marginalized and until recently have never even come close to thinking of socially sanctioned marriage as an option, it isn't how most gay people define themselves. I guess the one good thing about the history of discrimination towards gays is that there isn't so much pressure for gays to achieve certain life milestones, such as marriage and kids (the sad reason for that, of course, is that often we're already considered inherently flawed with no hope for a "normal" life). While most of us want that same kind of loving, stable, life-long relationship at some point, finding it isn't the badge of achievement, the climax of our adult lives. I know that's a gross overgeneralization, but it's sort of one way I wrap my mind around some of the differences between gay and stright people in social behavior.
Anyway, back to Saturday night...
As I was saying, I had a blast but that is in large part attributable to the pleasure in watching people act strangely, being an invisible observer. For example, we saw one couple engaging in what I can only imagine was some of the least sexy foreplay EVER, since they were two of the least attractive people I've ever seen. I guess they were in their early 40s, late 30s. The guy was wearing a black Rolling Stones t-shirt, jeans, and birkenstocks and had shaggy blondish hair. The woman, as someone I was with said, looked like a drag-queen dressed as Olive Oyl (as in Popeye's chick). At one point, the guy got down on his knees in front of the woman, who was sitting in a chair near the stage, and she started slapping the shit out of him. For real slapping. Across the face. Several times. And he appeared to beg for more. Then she poured her drink on him, while he held on to her legs. A few minutes later, she tried to take him into the women's bathroom with her, unaware that there was actually a bathroom attendant in there, and he was promptly kicked out. They spent the rest of their time at the bar that night pawing at each other, like they were seconds from ripping the clothes off their bodies. Thankfully, they remained fully clothed, but I shudder to think of what went on once they got home. Gross.
On that note, it's time to take Murphy on his last walk of the night and then learn more handy Italian phrases before I go to bed.