I was trying to think of something that I care less about than the Boston Red Sox winning the World Series, but I can’t. Maybe Chris O’Donnell, but Scent of a Woman was pretty good if you can see past the pathos.
Yesterday was Clown Coffee’s birthday, so I went to dinner at his house. There were four of us: Clown Coffee, Worker #3116, this Jewish lesbian from my work, and Clown Coffee’s friend Damon, who is this very strange but bodacious combination of a stoned surfer dude and a homosexual Art History PhD candidate. He describes everything as being “a pretty good vibe,” and he kept saying to me and the lesbian, “It’s really great to meet you guys, you seem really cool, this is really awesome. Wow.” Damon and Clown Coffee like to make jokes about fisting and the hippie lesbian is easily embarrassed and I like to eat birthday cake: that is what was revealed last night. Not as much as Damon, though, as proved by this conversation:
Clown Coffee: Hippie Lesbian made me a cake.
Hippie Lesbian: Yeah, although I have to admit that my mom did, like, 80 percent of the work. I went over to her house with this little crummy pan and she was like, “oh no no no, here” and started pulling out all this stuff and th—
Damon: Let’s eat it. Cake!
At some point in the evening Clown Coffee turned to me and said “You’re the straight one, do you have the typical lipstick lesbian fantasy that straight guys are supposed to have?” and I tried to sort of explain how I didn’t really think that was an accurate description because no one really fantasizes about lipstick lesbians, there’s no depth or plot or sexual politics about jerking off to two girls doing it, but everyone was just staring at me so I just said “But yeah, that’s hot.” Later, in the car, I figured out what I was trying to say, which is that if anything the typical male fantasy is of two bi-curious girls going at it, who put on a show for me but are really just waiting for me to sink my gigantic schlong into them. Because honestly, no one actually likes lesbians. Yuck.
And that’s my point.