Flattered and Scared

I attended a party that Jamison, a hairstylist, hosted at the Abbey Cafe in Hillcrest. I asked Jamison about his name, and he joked about his mother being drunk on Jameson Irish Whiskey when he was conceived. He told me there is an actor with the same name. Jamison introduced me to several of his friends and told me that Rob Halford, the Judas Priest singer and Hillcrest resident, might show up. When Jamison introduced me to his cousin, I asked her about the tattoo she had on her breast. She was happy to tell me about it and talked for half an hour. She was interesting, but her friend was quiet. I find that people who talk a lot tend to hang out with people who are quiet -- it's a perfect match.

A friend of Jamison's came down from Northern California to attend his party. His friend told me that she's seeing a guy in San Diego, but that the long-distance relationship is almost over. She was wearing a black outfit that showed her back, and most of her front. She was a Lara Flynn Boyle type (but one who's had a sandwich).

A waiter was coming around with appetizers. I told him that he reminded me of Andy Warhol. He said, "I always hear that." As we were devouring chicken wraps, a woman gestured to the pile of gifts and said, "Everyone is putting their presents on that table, and the ribbons keep falling into the candles."

I met a dentist who owned a restaurant in Hillcrest. When Jamison passed by, the dentist said to him, "Where are all the women? I'm a straight guy, you know." He told me several dentist office stories, while his business partner didn't say a word during the hour that I sat there. (Another talker and quiet guy match.)

I listened as two older guys and a woman in a tight leopard skin outfit spoke German. Turned out the woman spoke several languages. She told me that she had grown up in Turkey and learned how to speak Italian and German from the years she spent modeling in Italy and Germany. I told her that I thought she looked like Sophia Loren with shorter hair. "Are you trying to hit on me?" she asked. She said that she worked at a restaurant nearby and asked me if I'd like to go there for dinner. I said, "Yeah, maybe I'll stop in sometime." She said, "No. I mean now."

We left the Abbey Cafe and walked down University. After dinner I told her that I had to leave to attend another party. She got upset and said, "Why would you take a woman to dinner when you have other plans for the evening? That is rude." I agreed and decided to skip the next party.

We headed downtown to the Gaslamp where she had a few drinks and asked me, "Are you some kind of faggot?" I said, "Excuse me?" She explained that because I was at Jamison's party, she assumed I was gay. She told me I was acting gay and I laughed, "I'm not even sure what that means." She grabbed me and said in her broken English (imagine Zsa Zsa Gabor), "This will prove if you are straight," and she leaned in and kissed me. I'm not sure what that proved but I didn't complain.

She proceeded to get drunk and embarrassing. A person walked by selling flowers, and she harangued the woman about how much she was charging for a single rose. When I told her it was time I drove her home, she asked me if we could see each other again. She asked me if I would teach her how to drive. I told her that I wasn't sure, and she started crying. This flattered and scared me, but she said she was upset because her sister needed a kidney transplant. Maybe she told me hoping I'd be the donor. She said she had a headache, so I was able to drop her off and head to my next party.

It was at a place called Flinn Springs Inn in Lakeside. It's a country and western place, but the DJ was playing hip-hop. The party was on the back patio. Megan, the woman who invited me, was talking to a friend named Laura when I arrived. Laura was upset about a boyfriend who broke up with her. "He told me I was too heavy. He's six feet tall, weighs 278, and he's calling me fat." She didn't look fat to me. Laura told us, "He cheated on me with his old girlfriend." "You're better off without him," I said.

I met a guy named Jono who was moving to Texas. He said something about having a house there, and that he was going to put a horseshoe pit in. When Megan suggested that he share some of his funny stories, Jono said, "I better drink another beer first." While Jono went for his beer, I had time to grab a piece of birthday cake, which I had to eat with a knife because they ran out of forks during dinner.

Jono told me about getting his skull crushed in a bicycle accident, about being arrested in Barstow for tipping over cows, and about his time as a drug dealer. Jono told me that he used to sell everything: "acid, cocaine, heroin, pot." Dealing drugs never got him into trouble, but he recently got hauled in for an open beer at the beach.

When Jono ran out of stories and the party crowd went into the bar to dance, I prepared to leave. There were cop cars in front of the club. I thought of Jono's recent trouble and was relieved I hadn't had a drink.

Crash your party? Call 619-235-3000 x421 and leave an invitation for Josh Board.

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