Sunday, October 16, 2005 | by nathan

The Weird Weekend Maze of Specialness

One of my good friends from high school is getting married in January. His little sister, Monica, who is four years younger than me, is getting married next month. You can bet their parents are thrilled. Monica asked me to be an usher in her wedding. She is like a sister to me in a lot of ways, and she always shares her cigarettes, which, to me, is the mark of a spiritually mature woman. So I said yes. That was a month and a half ago.

Friday I went to get my measurements for the tux I am to wear. The thing is, by all accounts, pink-pin striped, with a big pimp hat, and a cane. I began to think about faking my own death, or, if that didn’t work, finding some way to actually end my life. But I love Monica dearly, and, well, when else in my life am I going to get to wear a pimp tux? I decided just to go with it.

Song: "Either Way It Goes" by Blue Merle

The tux rental place was on the west side of Norman. It was more or less a costume/pageant shop called "Southern Charm." I walked in and was immediately asked to wait for Kayne, who seemed to be the big honcho. So I waited, and immediately I knew this was all a mistake.

First of all, it was clear that I was out of my element. The blood boiled into my face when I realized that this place was the place where rich Norman women bring their pageant-entering daughters. Kayne, I soon realized, is apparently the Carson Kressly of Norman, because these women (I saw no fewer than ten George W. Bush stickers on cars in the parking lot) were coming to him to make their daughters beautiful. Because, you know - all a girl needs to know is how to be pretty. And incidentally, who buys their prom dress in October? I may be the slightest bit angry.

Anyway, Kayne flew around the store like a moth. There was a little Paris Hilton dog on the ground, running around between my feet. It seemed to like me even more after I accidentally kicked it. "Oh my God, that’s FABULOUS!" he cried when a girl emerged from the dressing room in a bikini (again - in October?). "Ooh, honey, that is not a good color on you." Things like this. Which is fine, as I once worked in clothing retail and used the same tactics to unnerve my straight-male clientele, because I was bored with my life. At least Kayne’s effusiveness was genuine. Then it came time to measure me.

Kayne stolled up to me with the suddenly-affected swagger of a football coach. His voice lowered - I am not kidding - a full octave. "Let’s get you measured, bud. Lift your arms." I stared at him in disbelief in a second. He must have thought I was thinking, "What a faggot." And to be honest, to some degree, I was.

I was offended, first off, that he did not recognize his own people. I thought briefly about implying that he and I needed to have a go-round in the dressing room, but I did not find him attractive, and I am happily married, and, well, I never really liked Carson Kressly, and from what Thom Felicia told me, neither does anyone else. Still, I could have excused him this, because I had taken a three-hour nap that afternoon, and hadn’t showered, and was in ratty clothes. So - fine, whatever. He kept measuring me, and doing one of the most annoying things ever. "Okay, now lower your arms, bud." "Now let’s get your waist, bud." I hate being called "bud," "champ," "guy," or any other straight-guy add on. I can deal with dude, because I say it all the damn time, but still. I think what pissed me off was that he affected this whole persona with me all of a sudden, when I’m standing in the middle of his dress shop - his DRESS SHOP - and thinking, "Who the hell do you think you’re kidding?"

Maybe in order to be successful in business you have to do these things. I wouldn’t know; I was fired from the only retail job I ever had, and I am certain that my complete inability to do that job well had something, at least a little, to do with my complete refusal to hide the fact that I really enjoy sleeping with men. And this guy - let me quote Margaret Cho. "He’s such a bottom that somebody might fall in. You need to put some cones around him. He need a guardrail, or something." Also, he measured my waist at 33, which I have not been in quite some time, and is 2 inches more than almost all the pants I own, which is why I keep wearing the same three pairs of jeans over and over again. So - not the most pleasant of experiences. So I walked outside and called Paul, the father of the bride. "Wow, that place was an experience in specialness." Paul laughed. "Yeah, that guy is, uh - well, he’s pretty - yeah." "Yeah."

Paul made some remark about being scared, and that was when I got it. Here I was on the very verge of gay-bashing Kayne over the phone. Just letting him have it, the little faggot. I felt afraid of myself and this mean, angry thing that lives inside me and thinks it is my job to fix everyone. I realized that I am not, not okay. On a deep level. So there’s that.

Song: "Laura" by Scissor Sisters

I was in a weird place emotionally anyway. Brian broke his wrist on Friday when he fell off a railing at his work, and he was in so much pain in his arm and back on Friday and Saturday nights that he had to sleep sitting up, and couldn’t function when the Lortab they gave him started wearing off. It killed me to watch him endure so much pain and be able to be of so little help, and I am still worried that his back is all fuckity from the fall. Also, on Friday at work at O-Trip, I googled my friend David’s band, Dr. Pants. I found a blog of a guy in OKC who goes by the name Dr. Pants, but quickly decided, "No, this is definitely not David Broyles." But this blog had a promising link on it to NaDruWriNi, or Blogging While Intoxicated, which was something I quickly got excited about: http://abroad-abroad.org/index.php/2005/10/09/blogging-while-intoxicated/ This link led me to a blog of a girl who is married and living in Korea, and it was entertaining enough, and I was bored at work, so I started reading.

Well. Turns out it belonged to a girl I knew in high school, with whom I have fallen out of touch since senior year. I sat there and read the whole way through her blog. It was like being in some kind of out-of-body experience. The internet has these creepy powers, sometimes.

It put me in a weird place emotionally - so I was fertile ground for the little missles that were Kayne and Brian’s broken wrist and my new fatness and complete inability to get it up to exercise. Ugh. Life is so weird and special sometimes.