almost like tales of the city...

sit-n-spin, 2005 -- by chad

"Excuse me, may I ask you a question?"

About 20 minutes ago, I was in the process of getting some Bounce dryer sheets from a vending machine in a North Beach laundromat (the one with the crazy Engrish signs) when suddenly and randomly, a woman asked me that. I looked up to see who had just spoken to me. Tall, toned, and tan, she was quite attractive...reminded me of a twentysomething Melissa Gilbert, actually. She had long hair that she was twirling on one of her fingers as she talked to me.



"Sure," I replied.

"I'm going out on a date tonight, and I want a guy's opinion on something."

"Okay," I smiled. "Go ahead."

"I have a date with a really hot guy, and I'm not sure if I should wear a cute pink miniskirt, or a pair of white jeans," she told me.

"Hmmm," I pondered. "Is this a blind date?"

"Well, no, not really. He's a software engineer who went to Yale. I have really nice legs, and maybe that'll attract him. I figured I'd ask you because you seem nice, and you're a nice-looking guy."

"Thanks," I smiled. "Well, it's winter, and wait...how short is the skirt?"

She put her hand on her upper thigh.

"Damn, girl. That's short. You don't want him to think you're a floozy."

"So maybe the jeans?"

"Yeah, definitely. Wow him with your effervescent personality [she grinned when I said that] and have your killer legs be a surprise to him on the second date."

"You're right," she replied, thinking about it.

We spoke for a few more minutes...turns out she had just moved here from Sacramento, and was originally from Redding.

"How many roommates do you have?" she asked.

"I live alone, I'm too old to deal with roommates. I did the roommate thing in my twenties."

"Wait, how old are you?" she asked, incredulously.

"Thirty-four."

"Oh my GOD I thought you were MY age!"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

Bless her heart. "Nope, I'm thirty-four. But I try to take care of myself. I lost eighty pounds."

"You did?" she looked shocked. "You look really good now. Hot."

I could get used to this. I'm so not used to compliments and nice comments...I sure as hell didn't get any from you know who. "Thanks," I replied, shuffling my feet and looking at the floor, smiling, slightly embarassed.

"I just gained weight. I was 105, now I'm 135," she exclaimed.

"All right for you," I said, smiling. "I like a gal who tells her age and weight to a total stranger in a laundromat."

She laughed. "You know, I moved here from Sacramento because I wanted to be a city girl and find a husband. Fuck Sacramento!"

"You're like, from the 916, aren't you? Ick." I pretended to be disgusted.

She laughed again. "Well, I live here now. I love North Beach."

"Hey, may I give you some unsolicited advice?" I asked suddenly. I had to tell her something that suddenly popped into my head.

"Okay, go ahead."

"The more you look for a husband, the more he'll elude you. You'll just look and look and look and you'll be disappointed every time. Just relax, be yourself, and just when you least expect it...someone who completely rocks your world will fall into your lap. But the more you search, the lonelier and more frustrating it gets...and you totally come off as desperate. Just stay true to yourself, love yourself, and never, ever sell yourself short."

Just then my phone rang. The stupid thing had been ringing every five fucking minutes all goddamn day, and at this point, I had almost thirty messages. Without looking to see who it was, I shunted the call to voicemail, since I didn't feel like answering it. Sometimes I just don't want to talk on the fucking phone. It's nothing personal, but I remember a time before cellphones when I wasn't readily available to everyone at all times, and I refuse to give that up.

"Bootycall," I told her.

She laughed. "Really? So...are you married?"

"Nope."

"Do you go out on a lot of dates?"

"I have been lately...I recently got out of a bad relationship, and I'm just having fun right now. A husband is really the last thing I'm looking for right now."

"Wait," she leaned forward and dropped her voice. "Are you..." (she dramatically paused) "...gay?"

I grinned. "You could say that."

"Aren't all the gays in the Castro?"

I wanted to tell her they kicked me out of the Castro for being too gay, but honestly, I don't think that's possible.

"Yeah," I replied. "but the Castro isn't really my thing. It's kinda annoying and all they ever think about in that neighborhood is dick dick dick dick dick. It's just a 24-hour cocksucking buttfucking dickfest over there, and I kind of like living away from that."

She looked like a deer in headlights for a second, then laughed. "I work with the hottest guy at the Bay Club who is gay. He's in great shape, like you. Do you have a card?"

to be continued...