What makes a gay heart weep kosher tears quite like a hilariously bad Seder story? Well, if you're a Gentile, I guess not much of anything [whoops] but, let's not go there.
I'm sure we can all laugh together at the sheer absurdity of my first Seder in college. At the time, I was a student, worked as a caterer and had a budding social life [versus my treasured nights at home with my cats these days].
Outfitted in low-rise jeans, punk boots, mascara, “Dropkick Murphys” tee and a seriously fierce feaux-hawk I sauntered into the second-floor of our catering offices looking for my sunglasses (left-behind the day before after another mother-of-the-bride-batshit-crazy wedding downtown).
The plan was to get together with friends and hit the gay club downtown. On Thursdays it was 80s Retro Night there, hence the pseudo-punk and I was ready to get my drink on and dance to “Like a Prayer” [obligatory song for 80s Retro Night].
I didn’t even top the stairs before I heard an overly-enthusiastic … “BENJI!”
Now, when you hear an all-too cheerful exultation of your name [even an annoying nickname] you KNOW something fishy is up.
It was my boss, Pescha, approaching me …
“Bubbula, you’re free right now, aren’t you?”
“Uhm … I mean, yes, I'm not running anywhere at the moment; but I really only stopped in to pick up my sunglasses … I, uh, have plans tonight.”
[No, it is NOT apparent that I have an issue saying no to authority figures, is it?]
“But, you don’t have plans now?”
“No, not at this exact moment – why?”
“Good, because I need help downstairs; the Jewish Student Organization is coming by soon for the Passover Seder. We’re hosting it for the students who can't get home.”
“But-t, I – uh … uh, well – I guess if I don’t stay later than 7?”
Promising that the event would run no later than 6:30 that worked, it left me enough time to get all re-dolled up and to grab my friend Hana and run.
Changing into a cobalt dress shirt and black tie, eschewing the black slacks in favor of my jeans (two reasons:
1. none of the black slacks really fit me well, either too-small girls’ pants or the guys’ which were too big
2. the jeans were so tight I'd all-but crisco’d myself to get into them I didn't wanna think of the ordeal to get myself in and out of them in my little cubbyhole of an office).
I grabbed a black vest just-in-case.
The Heads of the Jewish Student Organization, a young semi-cute boy and a very attractive young lady – very shiksa in her blonde hair and pale dress – arrived and helped us lay out the Seder plates and such.
By the time sunset neared, the guests had arrived and gathered around 5 properly attired tables.
I walked the kosher wine and grape-juice to the various settings and matzo crackers as appetizers and caught at least 3 of the cute boys’ eyes darting both to crotch and ass level [hmm, Jewish AND gay?] as well as catching this REALLY sweet young guy’s eye as I proffered him the water, my crotch apparently just-below shoulder level – he blushed almost as crimson as the wine in front of him.
I should’ve really wondered why I was getting this attention, but I didn’t.
By the time I had meandered around each table, making sure all of our guests were comfortable and good, and making it back into the ante-room, I was well-aware of more than a few girls and guys outright staring at me.
As soon as the door behind me had closed Pescha was at my side, an embarrassed grin on her suntanned Bubbe face. Hana was doubled over in a giggle-fit.
“Benjamin, you CANNOT go back out there like that … you are giving those poor girls [and gay boys] whiplash!”
It seems, the tight jeans I'd chosen to attract attention for dancing were doing their job; causing these poor Seder-goers to get whiplash from trying to stare at both my crotch and ass – which were both pronounced in them.
My bad. [Or a great date-catching plan - you decide.]
Not being able to wear a pair of the black slacks upstairs, I opted the simple-fix; grabbing a black apron and making sure it covered up my crotch and at least minimized my booty’s appearance.
After that? The Seder went by quietly and in proper reverence [my bulge/booty causing no more stir … but, at least, I’d like to think that my overt-sexuality had made for some good stories to be told around the next Seder table].
Hana and I made our excuses and re-primped and headed out. Of course, after walking the 10 blocks to get to the club from campus, we found that it was one of the arbitrary nights when the bouncer was checking IDs and I was the only 21 yr old in our group.
So, we did what anyone thwarted would do: we ditched the dance-plans and did TGI Friday’s instead. Lame? A little. Fun? Definitely. A very interesting first Passover for me.
Moishe led the Jews on Exodus and I? Led my friends to dinner. Not quite the same, but, there you are.
You know your week is off to a stellar start when it has Valentine’s Day AND 2 of your ex-boyfriends’ birthdays in it.
Did I mention that both are in long-term, committed relationships?
I didn’t? Well, now I did.
Bitter: party of me.
What made this gay heart weep tears reminiscent of Lady Gaga losing all those Grammys to Adele [that’s right, “album of the decade”, mm hmm] was just making it through the snark-inducing shit I deal with.
Join me, please.
Thank you Brian B for the inspiration from our fb chat.
[Now, picture me in a cute 60s PanAm-esque Flight Attendant outfit ...]
Good Morning, passengers of Gay Hearts Weep Airlines, this is your flight attendant – Benjamin – speaking. You need to board this flight quickly and quietly. Your flight crew appreciates this.
Now, here are some simple rules which will ensure everyone has a pleasant flight and walks away from this plane alive.
There is no need to talk to anyone. It is O’Dark-Stupid in the morning; that means it is time to sleep. No one gives a shit about ANY of your problems. To all children that are under the age of 5, please pay close attention:
Shut. The. Fuck. Up. It is way past your bedtime so NO ONE should hear a single peep out of you! If you continue to make noise? I will pepper-spray you my damn self. You have been warned.
[*ahem* It may be noted here that some have theorized I have a problem with children. Those people? Are perceptive]
Needless to say, I am not a morning person. Nor can it truly be said I’m an afternoon person. Nor much of a Night Owl. Come to think of it, I think I’m set on perma-snarky.
I wonder if it’s a medical condition.
Should I treat it with wine?
Let’s examine this past Monday, as an example of why I’ve such an outlook, together:
I got up at O’Dark-Stupid in the morning to be at work [again, not a morning person – but, thank gawdd for coffee] and wade through a pack of imbeciles.
I mean pleasant people.
No, I mean completely selfish assclaps who seem to spend hours plotting how to make my mornings at work as difficult as possible.
[Some people call them customers.]
Anywhoo, after all of the loveliness of an 8-hour shift with no real break, I hopped in the car to drive my tired ass home [Please note that I refrained from nabbing McDonald’s – my de facto comfort fast food – stoopid diet. Bugger.] only to discover that my front driver’s side tire had a lovely sharp screw.
Embedded in it.
At least something’s getting screwed for Valentine’s.
Yepp, the day before Saint Valentine’s and I am single, dealing with a flattening front tire, fighting that impending-30s spare tire, and fighting the urge to punt anyone in the balls who so much as crosses me.
Okay, I totally took the coward’s way out and called Grandpa to ask what I should do (aside from replacing the tire) – he promised we could spend the next morning replacing or repairing the tire. *Whew!*
Assured of future success with the tire, I threw caution to the wind and let my hair down. Way down. In fact, I asked my lovely roommate Melanie to chop it off.
[One way to lose weight, cut 3-4 lbs of hair.]
Some people deal with things through shopping [guilty], eating unhealthy foods [also guilty], inappropriate behavior [need I say it?], but on a diet and dirt-broke I turned to the old stand-by: snarky and inappropriate commentary and re-invention.
A change-up as simple as hair cut or color can perk up even my shittiest day – of course, pairing it with an over-priced t-shirt would make it complete, but, who am I kidding? Not gonna happen.
With my short haircut – inspired by What’s-his-name-you-know-the-hot-one-on-CSI – and a bowl of low-cal devil’s food cake mix [tastier than cardboard, but not much] I had a bounce in my step.
The bonus? The fact that many 18-25 yr olds think I look 22/23 with it is totally [low-cal] icing on the [gawdd how much I wish it were real chocolate] cake.
Hrmm, perhaps it wasn’t such a shitty week after all.
Or maybe that’s just the wine speaking.
...and so is cheap-ass candy hearts that taste like chalk.
Only if it comes with razor blades.
Probably not a good idea.
If your lover loves beer, they will probably hit you with this one.
Even as a joke this is the fastest way not to get sex on VD.
Hooter's wings on Valentine's = Break Up
It sprays poisonous gas too.
The pink gun supporting Breast Cancer may seem like a good idea to make your Valentine swoon, but when she aims it at your balls, you'll regret not going with your first instinct: anything from the jewelry store.
I'm not a germaphobe but if I saw one of these snack stadiums at a Super Bowl party not only would my gayheart weep -- along with a certain family member's who shall go nameless, but we would run screaming from the toxi chemical food mess like foodies about to be infected with the Partially Hydrogenated Oil Virus. I posted one these creepy party buffets last year on Super Bowl Sunday as a joke and it's quite scary to see that they are now becoming a party thing! Yikes. I guess the reason is why actually cook good snacks when you can stop at 7-ll for junk food and toothpicks.