Christ Our Hope
Yankee Stadium, 2008
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer-Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus”
Joy
“I know it’s hard for you to be less than perfectly honest but you have to flake on her tonight,” said I to my wife. “Trust me, it’s the only sane option.”
Molly
Called her on the phone. Spoke for a few minutes. Kind of a soft blowoff. Other than her pussy, the reason I was into her was that she laughed when I told her I dumb myself down when I’m speaking to other Americans because Americans are stupid.
“You shoulda come out tonight,” my wife told me later on. “The girls wanted to meet you.”
“For future reference, making the after-party sound like a carnival of cock is not the way to get me to reach for my dancing shoes.”
Dinner
Things were looking up by the next afternoon. My best man was in town for gay pride weekend. He brought his amusing Southern friend. They were staying at ours.
I was playing No More Heroes while everyone watched. I was killing some guys. Killing some guys is fun. When I finished killing some guys I put on the silkscreened Pope shirt, the one that sez Christ Our Hope and has a picture of the Pontiff holding up his hands like he’s raising the roof.
Dunno why I went to see the Pope. He’s German so there’s that. And I took European History in high school so I’m sure Mr. Dudley (God rest his homophobic soul although I’m not quite certain he’s dead) would be proud that I went to see the Holy Roman Emperor. Catholics believe in eating their deity, something I find both silly and oddly appropriate.
Jesus is love though. That time I was walking on the beach and there was only one set of footprints? He was totally carrying me. If I had to make out with a guy my first choice would be Jesus, followed by Johnny Depp if for some reason the J-man weren’t available.
The four of us went to dinner, our gay friends in their tuxedos, I in my Pope shirt and Les in her fuck-me jeans. We must have made an odd foursome.
House Party
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as triple-dees,” I told my wife.
“She insisted she has triple-dees.”
“When you say that I keep thinking of that girl from Total Recall with the three breasts.”
I don’t know if she really did have triple-dees but her breasts were large. She was tall. She had sleepy eyes. “My friends went to see Eartha Kitt,” said I to the tall chick.
“Eartha who?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Catwoman?”
“Um.”
I met a young Indian dude, a percussionist who aspired to play for the Philharmonic. I wished him luck. The drinking games started. We left.
“When you reach the age of majority,” I was saying, “there’s no reason to make a game out of drinking. You just fucking drink.”
Dubai
I wore a paper lamp shade on my arm, light emitting diodes on my fingers. People were, of course, asking me for drugs. Someone offered me shrooms, but I misheard him, thinking he was asking for shrooms and so I pointed at the lamp shade on my arm, saying, “If you eat one of these you’ll get really high.”
The Pope shirt was a hit, as were the lights. I bathed each woman I met in the technicolor radiance of my holy LEDs; I asked each woman I met whether she had accepted Jesus Christ as her LORD and SAVIOR. The few who didn’t immediately run away turned out to be quite fun.
Rachel
A young woman handed me a party flier. I squinted at the glossy paper. “You’re holding it upside down,” she deadpanned.
“Really?” I made an exaggerated show of rotating the flier. “Naw, it definitely looks better the other way.” She laughed. I studied the mole on her cheek. “You look like Rachel Weisz.”
Batting her eyelashes, she said, “I’ve never heard that before.”
“If it weren’t so hot tonight I would pick you up — but let’s face it… we’re both disgusting right now.” My eyes stung from all the sweat. “Though I suppose we could shower at my place.”
“Some guy already tried to entice me with the promise of a shower.”
“If you see him again then you should smack him for stealing my material.”
By the time I had the young woman’s number Les had convinced her to doff her top. Remembering, belatedly, that we already had two overnight guests, I sent my ladyfriend on her way. “When you do come over for that shower, I have someone I’d like you to meet. I won’t tell you his name but his initials are J.C.”
Sometimes I’m brilliant with women. Other times I’m a perfect idiot. I never know which Lex will show up until the words start tumbling out of me. This phenomenon keeps things interesting.
Score
“If you eat those things you’ll get really high,” said the guy.
“Oh hey, it’s you. I thought I’d pissed you off.”
“Not at all. That was hilarious.”
“On a more serious note, how much?”
Joy Again
My wife spoke with Joy the next day. Joy and Molly were no longer on speaking terms, the result of an incident that had occurred around the time I’d called Molly. I rolled my eyes at this, as young chicks often have dramatic falling outs, but at least it explained the brush-off.
“If I have to choose,” I said, “then obviously I choose Joy. I’m drawn to her, even though I’m positive this won’t end well.”
Rachel Again
“Just so I know I’m speaking with the right guy, you’re the one with the lights on his fingers who was saying crazy shit about Jesus, right?”
“Yup.”
“I’m glad you called.”
Another Party, Days Later
“If you eat those things you’ll get really high,” said the hot bartender.
“Wait… what? How do you—”
“Word gets around.”
“And to think I wasn’t even high when I said that. Hey, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. I won’t tell you his name but…”
And on and on and on and on until the break of dawn.
More: Seduction | Dating | Drugs | New York | Mushrooms | Jesus | Spirituality
