Sunday, May 29, 2011

Out For Thai With Chicken Queens, In Savannah

Out For Thai With Chicken Queens In Savannah
So get this, last night we went out to a Thai restaurant with the two gay guys who threw the dinner party Friday night in Savannah. I guess I didn't piss them off with my "humor", that night. I told y'all I was on my best behavior! I guess they fell for it, cuz they called yesterday and said they would drive us out to Thunderbolt near the Bonaventure Cemetery in a red-neck area of Savannah, to a 'hole in the wall', Thai restaurant.
Thai? In red neck country? You must be joking.

So I said: Okay, we don't have any better offers, I guess we'll go out with you two Queens. Of course, I much would have preferred sitting at home by a fire writing to all of my dearest Facebook Fans... of which I have narrowed my friend list down from 7,231 on 6 different profiles, to my favorite 2,000 on my real profile. Unfortunately, I'm being dropped by some of you, as I type. I am down to 1989.  But since I've been smoking that killer pot laced with hash from California, I really don't give a shit.

Actually, thanks to all of you who disappear... never liked you anyway. Smell ya later.

So, they pick us up in some kind of fancy car and I'm thinking: This is the second time I've seen this fancy jalopy and I wonder what the hell it is? So I get up the gumption and ask the driver: Excuse me, is this some kind of f a i n c y car that rich people drive, or is this just a regular old jalopy?

To which the driver replies: It's a LEXUS darling.

Oh. I've heard of those. I know they are not cheap... so I think: Thank god I got dressed up tonight in a nice pair of flowered shorts and put on a clean t-shirt and a pair of fresh white socks & my dress flip flops. I even brushed my teeth, flossed, gargled, swooshed and rinsed after I took a shower. Pit sniff... yep, fresh as spring rain. I thought these two fags might be a bit "uppity" so I wanted to make sure I smelled fresh & clean.

So we're riding down to Thunderbolt which is a red-neck area of Savannah out near the Bonaventure Cemetery in this LEXUS and as we wind deeper and deeper into Thunderbolt, (red-necks) I start to get a little scared. Are we being kidnapped? Are they going to pull a gun on us, take our money and push us out onto the pavement and drive off? I mean, we had just met these two guys the night before. I swear to sweet Jesus, I will jump in a car and go anywhere at the drop of a pill-box hat, with anybody. Must be paranoia from the pot. So I brush it off and butch up a bit.
As we drive along this red-neck country where road, where red-necks are hiding, towards the Bonaventure Cemetery, it's getting darker and darker and the Spanish moss hanging from the Live Oak trees is looking more and more ominous with the Lexus headlights droning in on them. I start to get a little worried, then I remember they couldn't hurt a fly because the one in the passenger seat, Gary, reminds me exactly of Nathan Lane from The Bird Cage. He's shreiking and cackling like a wet hen and honestly, we were laughing so hard at his story about something something something and her pussy...that I started to get a little headache from laughing so hard, and I had to yell:
stop it!
stop it!
as I am clutching my rosary beads in one hand and gasping for breath while holding my hand up at him while we were en-route. My head hurts, hon, those cocktails we had last night mixed with a little mary-hoochie has got mommy a bit blitzed. I can't laugh that much!
to Stop.
Which of course, gets her going even more-so.

We get to the restaurant, and while it appears to be a hole-in the wall in a remote and scary location where red-necks hide near the cemetery in Savannah, a location that no white boy in his right mind would go to, in the dark...the restaurant inside is actually very nice. It's called: Kao Thai Cuisine. It's out on Victory Drive past Skidaway... out where all the cemeteries are, like The Bonaventure Cemetery where Danny Hansforth (a red neck) was shot to death in the study of Mercer House, by Jim Williams. Y'all remember the book: Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil?
Well, this red-neck area out by the cemetery actually looks just like the cover of that book.

Crap. I think I actually see Danny, covered in Spanish moss, hanging from one of the live-oak trees.

Marijuana paranoia.

The four of us plow into the Kao Thai restaurant, only one of my friends actually locks the door before I can get inside and he stands there, on the inside with me on the outside of the glass door and screams through the glass in a high pitched voice that sounds just like Nathan Lane from the Bird Cage, he would scare most dogs, when he screeches: I'M SORRY, WE ARE  CLOSED FOR T'NIGHT, Y'ALL 'L HAFFTA COME BACK OUT HEYAH AGAIN SOME OTHER TIME. And he flips the open sign to CLOSED ... and I start laughing so hard I can barely control my pee and his partner says:
Party pooper. So, we ignore him and fall across the restaurant into a table where we continue to laugh our asses off at our own hilarity.

We are seated at a lovely table with white linens and I notice that the entire restaurant is empty, except for one other couple who are quietly enjoying their meal. I totally ignore them... because, who cares?
If they don't like loud, obnoxious pot-smoking alcoholic queens, they can move. To another restaurant.
...and then we are greeted by our servers who are obviously 17, 18 or 19 year old boys, and they're either: straight, hicks, red-necks, Christians, Boy Scouts or all of the above. And the four of us are screaming, laughing and carrying on like a bunch of sissy-marys.
Three old chicken chasers and me. A bear lover who's starting to age, & admire the chickens.
And these servers are cute with a capital K.

At this point, we are laughing so hard that we don't hear what the Chef's specials are, and we're so busy screaming funny comments at one another that we actually forget to look at the menu so that after the fifth time the waiter comes around, we decide we're forced to order or starve to death. One of the guys says: We better order before we get kicked out... and we're starting to wonder what they're all saying about us back in the kitchen.... so we decide to butch it up a bit and study the menu.
When all of the sudden, the one who acts like Nathan Lane says, in a false Asian accent: Is Missy Thai Owner Here? And the boys run back into the kitchen, and bring out the chef. Well, by this time, we've each had several cocktails and can barely talk to the chef. I think he spoke Thai and could barely understand American Gay.  Anyway.

I'm sorry, what was that? Red curry with pineapple that he said was the special? Or was that Massaman with vegetables plus a protein? Shrimp? And it takes us another 15 minutes before we can order because, frankly? All four of us are cheap-asses and we're more concerned with ordering the cheapest meal on the menu, all the while, we want the very-best meal the restaurant has to offer along with a few more....

What was that? The pineapple thingy was $12.95 or was that the one that was $18.95? Oh... 18, never mind. How much was the yellow-curried vegetables? Maybe I'll just have a bowl of soup and are we going to get appetizers? When Tony stops dead and screams out an announcement to the waiter who's across the room: WE INSIST ON SEPARATE CHECKS. PUT THOSE TWO ON ONE TAB AND PUT THE TWO OF US ON ANOTHER....
because, frankly, Tony is just as cheap as Ron is...

and one of the other guys we're with, says loudly: WELL! I NEVER! and I looked at them and said, And y'all never will, either... and by the way, would y'all mind sitting at another table, too? Would that be too much to ask? Tony and I have a reputation to maintain. Of course, after the cocktail party I attended the other night, I'm certain my reputation is close to besmirched, anyway.


So, I figure...ooops, I better go back to being on my best behavior, because, seriously? There's no way in hell I can walk twelve or eighteen miles back to the Historic district in flip flops. Even if they have arch supports and I paid a fortune for them. They're leather and super cute. I paid a fortune from them, Olu Kai flips direct from the manufacturer.
Besides, it's dark and we're all the way out by the Bonaventure Cemetery where the red necks are hiding, and no white boy would be seen in total darkness wearing white crew socks.
Then, honestly, the conversation switches to: which one of the boyscouts is the cutest?
The one with long curly hair and freckles or the one with the dark hair that scoops down over his left eye?
is it the one who's pouring water and has obviously never seen four queens dining together before. He never looks up and appears to be gazing at a wet spot on the carpet.
I think.
When our friend, the one who reminds me of Nathan Lane says in a slow, southern pecan pie & honeyed drawl:
And I look over to where he's looking to see scoop eye staring back at us with a blank stare.
So I bust out laughing again and nearly choke on my cocktail. I hate choking on cocktails. Don't you?

Well, they all decide on which boy is their favorite: scoop-eye, while I am busy looking in the window, not at the dark and dreadful nothingness that is outside, but actually at my own reflection: is my hairspray holding well? Are my tits too big? Does my second chin look blubbie, or is it average for a fifty year old fat gay man who's been "married" for 31 years and loves to eat?

I decide it's hopeless. None of the Boy Scouts are going to give me a second glance, so I just allow Tony and the other two to act like they have a chance in hell at one of the...


young men.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

How I Almost Got Saved By Jesus At A Walmart

We're still here in Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, waiting for the Memorial Day holiday to commence & close so we can get on the road and head north. And, I will tell you what, there's a whole lot'a Jesus in these mountains.

I went to Walmart yesterday and bought way too many groceries and was wondering how am I ever going to get them home on my Yamaha Vino 125 CC when all of the sudden, my eyes pop wide open and nearly right outta my head, and I will tell you... suddenly I am filled with excitement and thrilled beyond salvation when I actually find a Walmart checkout line with nobody actually, in line.

If you have ever been to a Walmart checkout line, you know that those lines are usually a long as a Pennsylvania Turnpike at rush hour. Shopping carts are piled as high the almighty himself, with Cheetos, Vienna's (pronounced vi-eeeen-uhs) pork rinds & sodie pop. There is usually some heifer in line 'at weighs at least 350 to 550 pounds, a'totin’ kids and takin' forever while screamin' & hollerin’ at them damned, pesky, rotten little kids: why if yer daddy was a here...

Some folks call 'em Maggots. Always bellerin' at the top of their lungs fer no good reason...

Or, you get some old man or lady 'at cain't hear a lick for no good, that's gotta count out ever last penny to the cashier, and then figure out which items they gotta put back cuz Wally-World don't take no food stay-amps and they is on a fixed incum.

So, I get my stuff up on the counter and the checkout girl is beaming an enormous buck-toothed grin and brown teeth. She's got on a Sundee frock with polka dots and a cockled collar, she's got bug eyes what-am bug eyes and coke-bottle reading glasses so large & thick that it actually makes her eyes look like they're poppin' outta her head about another 4 inches, and get this, she's got pink, blotchy skin, freckles that look like ants and a crappy, crooked black wig on her head that looks like it come-outta K-Mart.

K-Mark s'what Shirley Q. Liquor or Betty Butterfield calls it. I cain't remember which of 'em said it, but I know one of 'em did.

In my usual congenial way, with a lovely lilt in my voice, I smile large & say: You sure have an extra big smile on your face today, young lady. You must be in a really good mood...

And with that, she shoves her right arm straight up inta the air, clutches her breast bone with the left hand, and looks heavenward. She glares back at me with an even bigger, stained, toothy-grin and says, 'It's b'cuz I got Jesus!'... and she stands there for a minute or two wobbling just a bit while staring at the ceiling as I am hurriedly loading groceries onto the counter,
all the while,


And the word:


is still loitering on the tip of her tongue and dangling in the air like the devil in my ear.

And then she looks down slowly, wobbles a bit, catches her balance on the counter and looks at me kinda sideways and says in a voice as soft as an angel:

Do you got Jeeeeeeeeee-sus?

Ah. Um, hum. Ahem... no. I stumble, clear my throat, stand my ground while I straighten up slowly and I say: No, um, no I don't... but I'm glad you're in a real happy mood when all of the sudden, her enormous buck-toothed smile disappears but the teeth don't and she gets all sad, cocks her head to the other side and asks me with a little puppy-dog face, why I don't got Jesus...

And then in a sorta quick way, I just blurt out: b'cause I'm old and read a lot and it's just not for me, but I am glad you found something that makes you so happy... and that's a good thing.

I'm happy for you honey.

And then she shouts a bit: Oh! Damn! Prances around a little like she's just stubbed her toe.
Then she slaps the counter so hard with her left hand that I think to myself: that must have hurt. The hand slaps with an overly-exaggerated way you would expect a large & bony hand to slap in slow motion, as if from Olive Oyl, and she says: Well, if you don't mind I'd like t' take a minute here t' try an' change yer mind about my Jesus a little bit and ....

... And then I look at her stern faced, and maybe start to get just a little bit red in the face and a smidge peeved when I realize I am trapped in Jesus country and most likely won't be able to make a clean getaway out of the store without being pursued, tackled & shot.

I can feel myself starting to shake a bit, and I say abruptly but directly:

Jesus is a myth.

There. I said it.

You could hear the air and the plastic cringe on the baggie turn-style. The bag-girl looked at me stone-faced, jaw-slacked. Her eyes enlarge. She's speechless.

Then the cashier snaps to attention with a:
WELL! HELL & TARNATION NO HE'S NOT! And this time, she slaps the counter again, a little bit harder and this time I think I hear a knuckle pop, and she gets a little bit madder about her salvation Jesus & all, and I say: look honey, I am in a hurry to get out of here and I need you to ring up my groceries so I can get on the road as I have a long ride. I am not here to talk about Jesus...
maybe some other time.

And she says:

You see... when I was finishin' up th' 11th grade I had an


brain tumor & cancer and I wuz about ta duh-eye
(she says "duh-eye" in an overly exaggerated way, kinda quickly so it comes out as an elongated like 'duh-aaaaaaaah', but not quite)

...When I actually did up n' duh-aaaaah and I went straight t' heaven and ah' met Jesus, our Lord & Savior what cured me. I met him face to face and he done talked to me, right there in heaven. I met Him.

Then she looks directly at me, batting her eyelashes softly in a clunky kinda way, as they flutter up against her giant coke-bottle eye glasses and she says in a calm voice:

So you see?

You have finally
met someone
at's been t' heaven
and has met Jesus,
our Lord & Savior.

I was supposed t' duh-ahhh on the operatin’ table 's I
had the rarest of all brain cancers ya ever gonna get and here I am at-

t h i r t y - s i x y e a r s o l d

t' live t' tell 'bout it..

Then she sucked a bit of air between her large teeth and said: 'at's twice thuh age as I shoulda' lived an at's all because of Jesus.

He done this for me. My Savior.

Then she leans into me and says:
My Jesus. I got Jesus and you need to get Jesus, too.

Right about now, my mind is nearly blank, swirling, and I am just about explode or let loose with a barrage of attacks about how billions of other people have died and how hundreds of millions of kids around the world are starving to death, sick, ill and dying... and how they didn't have Jesus to save their sorry ass...

...and I just looked at her, half smiled and said: well, yer doin' reeeeal good honey. I think yer doin' just great at livin'... and I'll tell you what, you keep that up real nice like, ya hear? I bet yer gonna have a long & happy life.

Then I scooped up my bags and hurried out the door, slightly rattled a bit, but happy I never engaged her. The whole time I stood there, the bag girl had a blank stare on her face.
I thought she might screech into the intercom at any second: Jesus Hater On Caysh Register Number THREE....

I could barely get my groceries on my bike, took off out of the parking lot a little razzled while glancing over my shoulder as if I was going to hear gun shot at any moment.
If there ever was a Jesus, I would have fallen off of my bike at that moment, for sure.

But I gotta tell ya, that's the first time I've been witnessed to by a cashier in a Walmart with bug-eyes n' buck teeth. And dang if 'at ain't the weirdest thang at's happened to me all week.
But you know what?
When I left that Walmart the sign on the bank said it was 108 degrees in Front Royal. The wind was blowing hard and hot. I managed to get that scooter back to my RV in the Shenandoah State Park, fourteen miles down 340 carrying $148 worth of groceries on my bike:
A 24 pack case of Aquafina
A seven pound watermelon
A slap of ribs that weighed 5 pounds
And eight plastic bags filled with groceries.
Damned wind was blowing so hard it almost knocked me off my bike. When I got back, I found out there were storms and tornado warnings all around the area were we were. Park ranger came and warned me, too. Thought one might hit the park and told me where to go for shelter.
But I got back safely.
Now how do you suppose I got back safely if someone wasn’t watchin’ over me?
Praise Jesus & pass the pickles.