November 26, 2013
Ok, now that I’m settled at work and it’s kind of slow, I’ll finish my story about me and Hasty.
So I was just lounging on the bed, we got two beds by the way, lounging on the bed watching tv with Gary Oldman (II). I wasn’t planning to take Gary Oldman (II) swimming, or to Blue Man Group because she doesn’t like water and she wouldn’t like all that excitement of a big crowd. Not really safe for her anyway. But I love that she’s my service animal because I can take her anywhere I want. In the city, she wears her special vest so I get fewer questions, but I still carry her paperwork. She looks so official in her vest. Cat On Patrol Gary Oldman.
Anyway, I hear Hasty’s laughter and freaking out so I go to the bathroom door and ask if everything’s ok. She was like, “aaah! don’t come in!” Ok. But then I wanted to. But I didn’t.
I was like, “are you ok? can I help you with anything?”
Then she started laughing again and said, “it hurts but nooooo!”
It turns out that as she was waxing her feminine area–I’m referring to it as her feminine area in order to be polite while talking about Hasty–well, she seemed to have accidentally waxed some delicate parts together, that shouldn’t be waxed together. Apparently if the wax cools down, it hardens. That makes it complicated to remove. I offered to help and I wasn’t even being a pervert, it was genuine, because I couldn’t imagine how she could help herself, then I began to imagine too much, and she said no anyway, so I told her to take a hot bath and let me know if there was anything I could do.
Eventually, she was agonizingly able to save herself, and we went down to the pool, sauna, and jacuzzi. It was fun and we both got a lot of attention because we were speaking in accents. People were asking us where we were from and details though, so we’d just say we can’t tell them anything because we’re spies. Then we’d laugh, walk away, and avoid them.
After that we got dressed and ready to go to Blue Man Group at the Charles Playhouse. I somehow scored front row seats and they gave us ponchos. We got sprayed by water and paint and buried in toilet paper. We were literally buried in toilet paper, it was awesome. I wish the Charles was a bigger space though so they could have the orchestra like they have in some places like Las Vegas. But it was a brilliant show and we had a lot of fun. After, Hasty bought one of their used drumsticks with paint on it as a souvenir. We decided against going out to eat for a few reasons.
1. I didn’t want to leave Gary Oldman (II) alone in a strange place (the hotel room) for too long.
2. We wanted to go in the sauna again.
3. We wanted to hang around in our hotel bathrobes.
4. Room service made us feel like royalty.
Also, it’s easier for me not to drink than when I go to a restaurant, then I’d want to at least order some wine.
The next morning we went back down to the pool, jacuzzi, and sauna again before having the continental breakfast. We could either bring the breakfast to our room or eat downstairs. So after swimming, we went and showered, then came down in our bathrobes and ate downstairs in the café while in our bathrobes. We spoke in our accents so people just figured it wasn’t weird to do since they assumed we were European. We learned that when Americans think you’re European, you can get away with a lot.
After breakfast we got ready to check out and go to the museum of fine arts. It was still early, about 9am, so we decided to walk around in the common for a little while. It was really cold Saturday though so we didn’t last long.
While we were there we split up to go to two different vendors, just to kill time for standing in line. I went to get coffees and Hasty went to get roasted almonds. Her line was shorter so while she sat on the bench waiting for me, she was accosted by some fucking freak. I hadn’t seen it happen but when I went over to her she seemed kinda distraught. She told me that he called her slutty because of her low cut shirt and asked if her husband, he had seen her with me, was ok that she was whoring herself out by putting herself on display. When she told him I wasn’t her husband but a friend, he asked if she and her husband were swingers and said that it was wrong for men and women to be friends.
Of course, after she told me that, I had to go have a talk with him. I said, “how fucking dare you talk to her like that and you need to apologize.” He went on to say that I was a fag because I had blue hair and that people like us were what was wrong with the world. I pushed him and said for him to apologize to Hasty. But I pushed him repeatedly until he was backed into a tree. He wasn’t retaliating. He was scared. That’s when the cops came over.
I began to explain what was going on, when the guy began on his rant about all that shit that pissed me off. He said, “here’s the whore now,” when Hasty showed up. She ran over when she saw the cops. The cops looked at each other and I could tell they understood where I was coming from. I said, “I just want him to apologize to her, then I need to fucking walk away because I’m about to kick the shit out of him.”
One cop said, “nope you can’t be doing that, you need to walk away pal.” The other cop told the guy to apologize and made us go our separate ways after he checked our id’s. The guy apologized and mumbled about sluts and fags as he walked away. The cops told me the guy was nuts and I just need to let that shit roll off of me or I’d end up being the one to get in trouble, which is basically true. Good thing the cops came along when they did or I’d have definitely gotten myself into some serious trouble from enforcing some regrets on that guy. People like that piss me off and it especially pissed me off because Hasty and I were having a great time and he hurt her. But as we were walking away she gave me a big smile and held my arm and said I was her hero and that was sweet of me to defend her. I put my arm around her and we got on the T to head to the Museum of Fine Arts.
We spent the entire day there. Well, until it closed just before 5, but my favorite part is always the Egyptian exhibits. Hasty liked the John Singer Sargent exhibit that’s there right now and the Impressionists. I love the Van Gogh’s. If I was an artist, I would paint like Van Gogh.
Anyway, other than that incident at the common, our time together was perfect. But even that made us glad to be who we are as people, because what it came down to was that guy was deeply lonely, and deluded by his own misunderstandings and confusion about people. Our time in Boston was exactly what I think both of us needed. And it was a good time without drinking, drugging, doing anything stupid, or jeopardizing responsibility. It was perfect.
And so, my theme song for this journal entry, is dedicated to Hasty. It’s “Perfect” or “Fuckin’ Perfect” by Pink, because Hasty is fucking perfect.
Hasty is a character based upon herself at http://hastywords.wordpress.com/