Metrosexual Musings

The fact that I actually enjoy this blog adds more fuel to my ever-lingering suspicions that there truly may be something very, very wrong with me.

I say that because it's not like I can really relate to her experiences, and I can't imagine there being very many 38 year-old heterosexual males flocking to the blog to read it, much less being interested in the subject matter and actually liking it.

Apparently, I must be more metrosexual than I realized. I embraced fitting into that description a long time ago, but somehow I always seem surprised when I'm able to confirm this.

I'd say I have plenty of attributes for people to complain about, but fitting into the 'metro' mold isn't one of them. I can fit in and feel completely comfortable in a room full of heterosexual beer-drinking, cheese-eating, football-watching rudimentary buffoons just as easily as I would if I were at a disco ball utopia like the Copacabana, surrounded by eccentric, flamboyantly proud, gay male divas prancing around in purple g-strings and assless chaps.

Wow, talk about digressing.

Anyway, she has a post regarding a visit to NYC that I found quirky and amusing, which is how I'd describe the overall blog so far. I can somehow totally relate to this particular line:

"I could see myself living here and falling madly in love with it, much like I adore Coco [her dog] even though she eats poop."

Good Times, Indeed

I have very few vices, but I do indulge in a few simple pleasures.

There are two that I especially look forward to the most.

For example, at 3 PM every day, there's a guy I work with who prepares about a half-pint worth of espresso, then walks around giving each of his friends a little white cup filled with a divine little shot of heaven.

Pretty cool of him I'd say.

Before I started drinking the espresso my buddy makes, the cuban variety was the best I'd ever had. Was being the key word here.

Mind you, I grew up drinking cuban espresso.

I can't put into words how delicious this guy's espresso is. Just trust me, it's damn good.

So anyway, after I had my little shot of espresso today, I decided to partake in my other daily indulgence.

Arturo Fuente Cubanitos -- small cigars sold in a tin filled with 10 of them.

I go outside to the beautiful patio area overlooking all the nice palm trees that the company I work for planted in the parking lot. This is where the smokers go for their hourly nicotine fix. So I have a seat, kick back, put my feet up on the ledge, and light one up.

It's 72 degrees, sunny, with a mild breeze to keep you cool. Perfect day out. This is irrelevant to the story, but I thought I'd be a smart ass and point that out since it's hella cold in much of the country still.

About half-way into my Cubanito, two friends of mine come by to smoke their cigarettes. Both of my friends are openly gay, and quite comfortable with it. They also know I'm completely non-judgmental, and couldn't care less who or what they're into.

Which really makes for amusing conversation among all of us, and today was no different.

One of them (R) is very feminine, sensitive, and flamboyant. My other friend (K) is the 'butch' of the two, very cynical, not flamboyant, and somewhat bitter. It's an established hierarchy, and everyone understands their role.

I'm the metrosexual breeder.

Good times.

So, R and K are discussing possible weekend plans when they walk up. They both say hi, and continue their conversation as they normally would.

It goes something like this:

R: "There are a couple of parties this weekend actually. The [insert gay nightclub here] is throwing a big bash too. Why don't you come with me and J?"

K: "Yeah, I dunno about that. I don't really like hanging around gay people."

R: (gasps and puts his left hand over his mouth, in shock) "What do mean...how could you say that?"

K: "I don't really mesh with the culture."

R: "Like what part?!"

K: "Well, it's just that I don't really have much in common with the gay guys I know. I love sitting at a bar with regular guys, drinking beer, watching sports, and listening to heavy metal music. I hate being around all the little divas and that whole scene. It's just not me."

R: (puts his hand up and turns his head away) "Whateva!!!"
Then K looks at me and puts a big smirking grin on his face.

We both know that even though he does really feel that way, he really just loves to get a rise out of R. Cuz it's just too easy.

I chime in: "You know, K isn't really gay, he's just Greek, if you know what I mean..."

We both look at R, who is now pouting and has distanced himself from K, then look at each other again and start laughing in unison.

Then, R looks at us both laughing -- his body language starting to get the fact that K deliberately wanted to get a rise out of him -- sits down, glares at us, smiles and says, "you both some stupid assholes!" He joins us in a hearty group-laugh, and in a New York minute, all was forgiven.

Order had been restored to our little universe in the smoker's patio.

Like I said -- good times.