The weekend (continued)

Ok, so I almost bailed on the second part, but there's been actual demand for it, so why not? My memory, of course, is now (much) worse for wear, but I believe these to be fairly accurate accounts.

Saturday (men in bars).

Tiny trendy SoHo bar for a friend's birthday. Yes, he is a gay guy and therefore has lots of friends who are the same. I don't mind being one of few straight men around, but needless to say, it changes the dynamics of my nights out. Fortunately, most guests are friendly, even after they deduce my orientation (usually after about thirty seconds, or immediately following my answer to the question, "Are you straight?"), and though conversation's very light (this is what happens when I get nervous and have nothing to talk about, ironically exactly the same as when conversing with an attractive member of the opposite sex), I can make it through most of the evening without embarassing myself. Too much. Well, that Saturday was a little more than I bargained for. The birthday boy, slurring and giggling like a certain G8 leader, confessed his love for me - sorry, prior love, since it's now no longer true - which I think I handled well, but did not see coming. I cannot remember a girl ever doing this, so I'm sure mom and dad will be thrilled to know that the first person to profess their true feelings to me cannot legally marry me in most states. Not that it bothered me. Or that there's anything wrong with that. What actually (really this time) weirded me out, was some random guy blatantly hitting on me. One - I'd never met him before, and he seemed to only know one person at the party; two - he had some serious speech impediment (or was decidedly un-sober); and three - he redefined awkward. He gave me his number so I could "call him for brunch sometime." The number was promptly deleted on my walk to the B train.

Sunday (shady business people).

I have to gloss over this entire day, firstly because it's not nearly as exciting as the rest of my pan-sexual weekend, and secondly, because it also involves a place of current employment. So there's that. To sum it up in nearly incoherent fragments: Italian guy whose only apparent skill is talking loudly and often (confirmed in the following weeks) convinces me to work for a start-up, which has been monstrously successful while I've barely made enough money to cover rent and toiled under the promises of future glory (which to date has included the shittiest raise known to man since 1849). Don't ask me why. It has at least passed the time while I wait for my dream job to manifest itself and land in my inbox. Also, multiple dealings with semi-sleazy real estate people as I've undergone my apartment search. It was a day after which I needed to soap three times in the shower. Yuckie.