Clever Idiot

If there's one thing I've learned in my years, it's that I'm a fucking idiot. At least I'm a clever idiot though.

Work has been crazy the last few weeks. I haven't had a day off in a few weeks, and I haven't had a good night's sleep in a few days. Today, however, we made a deadline and I was able to get out of work at a reasonable hour (8:00 pm). I wanted to get home and catch the Nets game, but a friend was going to some weird "opening party" on Madison Avenue, and I wanted to grab a quick drink before coming home to crash and watch basketball, so I agreed to meet her. After all, I'm never one to turn down free drinks.

So we get there and settle in a bit. The deal was that if I came, we wouldn't have to attempt to be social or talk to anybody, and that we would get some free drinks and go home. And it worked well, for a while--we stood in the corner and boozed it up a bit, talking about the crowd, and how everyone in the room was at least 6 inches taller than me, how their ancestors probably killed my ancestors, and how they probably all have last names that start with "Von." You know, typical chit-chat. After a little while, however, my delierium hit me, and I told her it was time to get going. Despite our "deal," she said she wanted to introduce herself to the promoter. Fine I said, I'll wait outside. And so I went.

I went outside and lit up a butt, and this strange little woman came up to me and asked for one. I was in a giving mood, so I obliged, despite the fact that I only had 2 left. Of course, she then felt obligated to stand and talk to me, despite the fact that I had no interest in doing so (and she probably had no interest either). She was a weird girl--probably in her mid thirties, not particularly cute, and I could tell that we had absolutely nothing in common the moment she started talking. Naturally, then, I started acting like an idiot. Nothing like burning your bridges before they're built, right? Here's how the conversation went:

Weird Girl: So what are you doing here? I haven't seen you at these things before?

Me: What do you mean? You come to these alot?

Weird Girl: Sure, I'm on the [whatever] list for art exhibitions, and go to these things a few times a week.

Me: This is an art exhibition?

Weird Girl: Yeah, you didn't know that?

Me: No, and not only that, I don't actually see any art in there.

Weird Girl: There's a few pieces on the wall there.

Me: Oh yes, I see now--there are two of them. This is an exhibition with two pieces?

Weird Girl: There's probably more on the back wall.

(I look at the back wall and see 2 emaciated models drinking champagne and a drag queen, but no "art")

Me: Oh. Those are swell.

Weird Girl: So how did you find out about this?

Me: Oh, a friend was invited, and she brought me along. (awkward pause while I think of a question for her. I look around, and notice that there are no homeless people or junkies on Madison Avenue).

Me: So if you go to these things all the time, do you see the same people?

Weird Girl: Sometimes, actually. I don't really know them, but we always pretend we're excited to see each other. There's usually a mix of "regulars" and then there's the randoms trying to grub free food and booze.

Me: I see.

Weird Girl: So why are you here?

Me: To grub free food and booze.

Weird Girl: Oh

(we both look around a bit, and wish we didn't have to talk to each other)

Weird Girl: Ahm, so, ah, what do you do?

Me: (being a complete idiot) Oh, I'm a beekeeper.

Weird Girl: Really? That's strange. You look a little overdressed to be a beekeeper, no?

(I was wearing my work clothes--business casual)

Me: Well, I'm on the "sell side."

Weird Girl: Oh. (At this point, her friend (another transexual, what the hell is this party for?) comes out of the party (he's no doubt already out of the closet)). Well, I've got to go. Bye.

Me: Bye.

Now, I know it was stupid to lie about my profession from the get-go. I'm really trying to be more truthful about myself when I meet people, because I know it makes me look stupid when I lie like that. And plus, my real story isn't all that bad. After all, I'm a boyishly good looking, sardonically irreverent 27 year old single lawyer in New York city who can sing an alto harmony that cuts through glass. (see) But in this case, I just couldn't help myself. I knew I would never see this person again, nor did I want to. I didn't even want to keep talking to her for the 3 minutes we stood awkwardly next to her. So I don't really see the harm.

What is the point of all this, you ask? Well, I know it wasn't the most enthralling conversation I've ever transcribed on here, but I have to say, I really think that whole "sell side" line was pure comic gold.* I mean, I'm completely incoherent and punchy, and yet I still improvised that line out of thin air. My sense of timing is impeccible, I must say. If you locked me in a room by myself for 8 hours, I would have a blast entertaining myself (and that ISN'T even including masturbation!). So the point is this--you can always count on me to act like an idiot and make an ass of myself, but at least I usually do it in a fairly clever way.

(note: I know that I haven't been posting as often as I should lately, and that the last couple of posts haven't been "up to par," or more aptly put, they've flat out sucked, and were really weird, to boot. Don't fret--I haven't lost it yet (to the extent I ever "had it" in the first place). I've just been nuts at work and haven't had the time to post, much less think. Things should be calming down a bit by mid next week, at which I can once again amuse you with tales of my drunken escapades and failed sexual conquests interspursed with racial slurs and other general bigotry)

* if you don't understand the line, asks someone in finance. At least they'll think it was a hoot.