Him: This bar is crowded. Wow.
Me: Yeah. I remember when there used to be like, 60 people here, tops, on a Friday night. It’s become a destination. Or a bunch of Gays have moved to Williamsburg, maybe.
Him: What about Williamsburg would attract a lot of gays?
Me: Just a certain type of Gay, I guess. Different types of Gays live in different neighborhoods, it seems…
Him: Really? I’m oblivious I guess.
Me: Yeah, I think so. You’ve got a pretty face, by the way.
Him: A compliment. I bet you say that to all the boys.
Me: I do, yes.
Me: I compliment boys, when I go on a date with them, yes. At, least, if I want to try to kiss them later, I do.
Him: That doesn’t make me feel special.
Me: I know! Imagine how I feel! I told you you’re pretty and I was made to suffer for it.
Him: I don’t want to feel like you’re just complimenting me because you’re going to try to kiss me later. I don’t want to feel like there’s an agenda attached to it.
Me: You’re right. Next time I have a stray thought about you being attractive, I’ll keep it to myself.
Him: So, different Gays live in different neighborhoods?
Me: That’s right. I think so, at least.
Him: Okay. This is a fun game. What kind of Gays live in Hell’s Kitchen?
Me: Middle Management Gays, Chorus Boy Gays, and Fashion Fags.
Him: Hm… That explains the attitude.
Me: Exactly. To them, cunty is a sport. If you’re not playing the cunty game, you’re not feeling well that day. It’s a language that they speak.
Him: I know. I’m fluent.
Me: Aren’t we all? But do we have to choose to communicate that way?
Him: Some of us think it’s fun. Upper East Side?
Me: Retired Journalist Homos, Antique Store Fags, Trust Fund Queers that don’t know how cool Tribeca is.
Him: West Village?
Me: Graphic Design Homos, Young MTV Exec Pansies, Elderly Queers with Rent Control.
Me: NYU Poofs, Wanna Be Art Fags, Assholes With Pie Blogs.
Him: Ha. You are an asshole.
Me: Thanks. You’re super charming.
Him: Do you say that to all the boys?
Me: Only when I’m lying.
Me: Actual Art Fags, Small Business Owner Homos, Gay Bait with Bed Bugs.
Him: Wow. You’ve got it all figured out, huh?
Me: Obviously not. I’m a homo of a certain age, and I live next to a highway.
Him: What do you DO for a living?
Me: I waste other people’s time.
Me: Just kidding. I do comedy. Which is frivolous. It’s entertainment. Which is a waste of time.
Him: Oh I don’t think so.
Me: Me neither. I just like the way it sounds coming out of my mouth. ‘I waste people’s time for a living.’ I love your hair. You have amazing hair.
Him: Gross, I haven’t washed it in a while.
Me: Sorry. You’re right. Your hair is disgusting.
Him: NO! That’s not what I meant!
Me: I know. I’m just reacting to your sarcasm in a literal way. It’s the only weapon people have against sarcasm. I’m really sarcastic, and the only thing that penetrates that sarcasm is when people take it (faux) seriously.
Me: Drives me up a wall. Maybe it’s the lighting in here, but man, your skin is wow.
Him: Shut up. I have a zit.
Me: Third time. That’s the third time.
Him: Third time what?
Me: Third time that I’ve complimented you and you’ve told me to shut up or rebuffed me in some way.
Him: Sorry. I’m just not used to people going around giving compliments to each other.
Me: Not even on dates?
Me: That makes me sad.
Him: Let’s just play our name game.
Him: What kind of Fags live in Gramercy?
Me: Stephen Sondheim.