So as our one month man sabbatical slowly draws to an end, a certain colorful BART ride over the weekend reminded W and I why we originally thought sabbatical was necessary for our lives. Friday night began amazingly. W and I headed out to the East Bay to visit MJ and see Bat Boy: The Musical, which comes highly recommended by all parties involved. I'm serious; it's hilarious, touching, sarcastic, strange, quirky, and a musical... what more could you ask for in a $20 evening?! So anyway, Bat Boy ends, and W and I realize that we've gotta motor if we're gonna make it back to the big, bad city before the last train strands us in the East Bay. So we pop by the BART station, run up to the platform, discuss how W just worked out more in climbing those stairs than she has in the past year, and laugh about Bat Boy while waiting for our train. As the train approaches, the driver leans her head out the window and stares W and I down for a few seconds. She then very deliberately tells us how to get on the train, all while seeming to think "These girls clearly do not belong here." W and I were confused, but whatever, we're smart city girls... we can handle the BART.
So a few giggling minutes pass and suddenly we hear "Next stop, Hayward Station," and W and I pause, look at one another, and think, "Oh shit... we are so headed the wrong way." We can't make it to the doors in time, so we wound up getting off the train in South Hayward, thinking, "OK, we're in the ghetto and we might miss the last train back to the city, but we'll be fine. MJ can always pick us up. South Hayward can't be all that bad." Then the BART driver happens to look out the window and see us laughing our asses off because we were the retards who boarded BART from the wrong platform. She, however, did not see the humor. She craned her head out the window and said. "You girls headed back to the city?!?! Oh no!! The last train's comin'... I'm-a hold it for you!! RUN!!!!!"
W and I were now officially freaked out. We charged the BART station, took the stairs up to the next platform two at a time, and then waited patiently for two minutes before our train arrived. As W and I boarded the correct train, we thought this was going to be a fun evening. We had made plans for a pub crawl from her neighborhood to mine, hitting all the local, cheap dive bars that color that lovely fifteen block walk. But then, as we realized we were now a solid hour, possibly hour and a half from home, the pub crawl was pushed to the back burner. On the train, W and I were desperately examining the map to figure out at which station we needed to transfer, when a seemingly nice guy asked if we were trying to get back to the city. He was too and said we could just follow him. It seemed innocent enough...
So the nice guy, while we were waiting for the transfer train, revealed he was from Long Island, and because of this we'll now call him Larry. Long Island Larry seemed cool in the beginning. W and I were willing to ignore the fact that he was wearing all black, but his clothing was splattered with strange white and grey splotches. We were also willing to ignore his shaved head (complete with ingrown hairs) which proved why white men should never shave their heads. But then he revealed his obsession with weather. He had spent a few weeks in Boston years ago where he was so cold that his "skin felt like it was being peeled off of his face." Also, Larry had been in Boston visiting a girlfriend, his fourth serious girlfriend, and has had three girlfriends since that trip. I don't know about anyone else, but to W and I, revealing information about all of your ex-girlfriends within the first five minutes of meeting two new girls proved to be taking the term "TMI" to epic new levels.
In addition to Long Island Larry, W and I met one of the greasiest and strung out people we've ever encountered. From this point on, we'll call him Chad; he loved the website Cha Cha and had a child. He saw his child three times a year, on Christmas, New Years Eve, and summer. W and I were confused as to how much time "summer" actually encompassed, mostly out of fear for the child, considering Chad revealed that he came out to the Bay Area in August for a week-long visit and simply has not left yet. He was headed into the city by himself to go to a house party on Broadway. It was located 0.82 miles from the BART station at 16th and Mission, and Chad was petitioning hard to either have W and I invite him out with us, or to have us ask to go with him.
Chad entered our lives by bonding with Larry over their mutual love of jazz, which also brought the third and most incredible man of the evening around. Man number three, who broke in to our conversation with the clever line, "You guys said jazz," had a lip ring that looked like he had pierced it himself from a home kit, was wearing a white bandana, and had short, sculpted hair that he used Short, Sexy Hair products to style. He was from Michigan, just like W, so we thought, maybe, we'd have something to talk about. But no, nothing to talk with him about, but he had plenty to say to us. Michigan man, from this point on, will be called Mitch. When W tried to talk about Michigan with Mitch, he very aggressively revealed that there was no highway 64, like she thought, in Michigan; there was a highway 94, on which exit 69 was for Big Beaver Road. (This statement made me realize that, no matter what, before I die, I need to visit Michigan with W.)
Back in August, just like Chad, Mitch got on a plane to Oakland with everything he owned. He decided one day that because he "ain't got no kids and no law troubles," moving across the country was a good idea. But when he landed in Oakland, he went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror saying, "Get your shit together, get your shit together, get your shit together" for a half an hour. He found a place in Hayward (which he hates) and began working as a roofer where he "makes a G a week," but he's looking to change jobs and eventually "make a G a day." Mitch is trying to save money right now so he can move to Hollywood. He decided he wanted to be an actor "after meeting a cool woman an BART who knew Dr. Phil's head writer," so he and the "cool woman" went to LA together and all did mushrooms for an entire weekend with the writer.
Mitch also revealed that he had bought a bike for $10 after moving here and had even splurged for a lock, but the lock had been broken and the bike was stolen a few weeks ago. He was very sad about his bike. Not having a bike made it harder to go places, such as goth clubs. He asked Larry, Chad, W and I if we knew of any goth clubs in the city, but we were clueless. At this point, Chad and Larry were immersed in jazz conversation, so W and I suggested Yelping "goth clubs" to see what came up, but Mitch scoffed at this idea. His exact quote, said quite egotistically was, "Goth clubs are usually underground, like in people's basements, ya know?" And he couldn't Yelp even if he wanted to because he didn't have a computer and refused to use the library's free internet because he simply didn't like it. Five seconds later, he stood up and moved to the second car without a word, leaving W and I to wonder if Mitch thought there may be a computer somewhere on the train where he could find a possible goth club location.
W and I luckily managed to get off BART without a hitch and without being raped or assaulted by our new friends from the East Bay. Once on our friendly neighborhood N Line, we laughed for approximately ten minutes about the men we had just met, and then went on an epic bar tour of the cheapest drinks in SF (yay $10 for two martinis!!!). See, being on sabbatical had numbed us to the neanderthals that populate our fair city and have a tendency to pollute our lives. But as the month draws to a close, W and I were initially very excited to get back out there and actively meet people once again. However, meeting Mitch, Chad, and Larry reinforced the need for sabbatical in the first place and proved that there are many, many men in the area who are not worth our time.
But W and I have decided, after not so much consulting with our girls, that a month is a long-ass time, and regardless of Mitch, Chad, and Larry proving the dregs of society exist to pester and annoy us in various situations, we need and love men. Two more days ladies, and gentlemen, until we are open to sex in the city once again!!
xoxo
J
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