George II

I wasn’t going to go out on Friday night, as I was still exhausted from my first two shifts at the new job and had another one on Saturday, but my new friend Rachel text messaged me before I went to the movies that she’d be at The George and I just couldn’t down an invitation from a new friend, even though I had been at The George the night before. [Nothing much had happened, but I did talk to this largish, heavy fellow who claimed to know all the provinces in Canada, put ironically left off the list two of the provinces with the largest Irish diasporas, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. Also, he went on and on about Michael Jackson and I finally had to ask, “Were you a teenager of the ‘80s? Like, was he the big thing for you as a kid?” and he said, “Not really, cause I was born in 1986.” WHY DID EVERYONE GET YOUNGER THAN ME?!]

Anyways, I went to see ‘Gigantic’ mostly because I am a devotee of Zooey Deschanel because of ‘Almost Famous’ but we don’t see much of her. It was the first movie I saw at the Irish Film Institute that I could’ve done without. And I don’t want to go on a rant here, but I will outline a couple of complaints. [Spoiler alert, sort of]. First of all, the title is unexplained. And, despite dramatic intentions, the movie plays itself as a comedy, but without many jokes. And had a weird obsession with showing stomach-turning bodily-stuff (one barfs on camera, another has to pull a bullet out of his leg, there’s a group masturbation scene and John Goodman spits out from his mouth a brain tumour...YEAH). Then there’s the mildly offensive fact of a movie about the problems of rich white people features both casually racist language (is it making fun of racism, or not?) as well as racial stereotypes, like the repressed Asian businessman and the flirtatious black co-worker. I also have a problem with romances in which the two leads go out on two almost-dates and speak as though it’s a relationship that can be “all screwed up” by someone not showing up for a dinner, but all worked out by showing up for another dinner. Does the writer/director know how young people date at all? Also, if I see another movie (‘Juno’, ‘Smart People’) in which a baby arriving at the very end is supposed to clear up everything and make everyone happy. This is really where we’re at in 2009? Enough of this stupid Bristol Palin bullshit.

Okay. My night at The George. I found Rachel with her friend Elaine and we started drinking. I didn’t want to drink too much as I had to work the next day, which she was having none of. Rachel is a very good person to go to gay bars with because, as a bisexual, she is a girl, part of the queer community AND can discuss the hotness of men with you. She had the hots for this punky looking guy (“I’d do ‘em!”) while I got a crush on this guy who was sort of hanging out with him: acting awkward and awkwardly dressed to match, he had dark curly hair and looked a bit like that dreamboat Steve Zahn from some season of ‘Survivor’. Anyways, we made eye contact a number of times and I was trying to work up the bravery to talk to him. While we were standing outside in the smoking area Rachel began harassing me about going over and starting a conversation with him. “I don’t do that!” “Come on! Do it! It’s easy! Come on!” I kept hesitating, so finally she said, “Alright, I’m going to do it for you!” And she wandered over to him. Elaine and I began talking and pretended to not look over. “Oh, this is going to end horribly,” I said. “He’s going to have a boyfriend, or be completely not interested or something else...” Rachel wandered back. “He’s straight. He’s just here because of a birthday party for the one I liked. Yeah, totally straight.”

I wish it ended there.

Much later, after we had danced a bit, the girls had gone to the restroom and I was left outside watching over Rachel’s drink. A young woman came up to be to set her drink down and offered me a cigarette. “No thanks,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you have a lovely Irish face.” She looked a bit like Emma Watson, but obviously younger and very pretty. “Tanks, it is an Irish face.” We got to talking about what she had done that evening, and what I was doing in Dublin, until I saw the curly-haired guy sneaking up behind her. Now, I had not had a conversation (thank God!) but I knew he probably knew who I was, and I could think of no reason why he was approaching us now. “Excuse me,” he said to the young woman, whose name I forget, that I was chatting with. “I think you’re name’s Rachel, I was chatting with you before...” (Oh God.) “Um...” “...You were telling me about your friend Max, who wanted to chat with me...” “...” Before total disaster happened, I interrupted. “Um, this isn’t Rachel. This is a girl I just met. You didn’t talk to her. Rachel is in the rest room. This is her drink.” (For some reason, I felt the need to explain everything I could.) “Oh, okay. I’m Avery. I was just wondering if I could use that connection and get a cigarette.” The young woman who was not Rachel complied. Then we all started chatting to get rid of the tension. It turns out the two of them both worked in movies or TV or something, but some reference I made to the Irish Film Institute fell flat, and I suddenly realized that Avery, the shrewd straight man that he was, might be trying to pick up my new friend, but before I could politely exit, the girl said SHE had to go. I was not about to be left with a straight man (why’d they even let him in anyway!?) who I had twice been embarrassed in front of in one evening all by myself, so I explained that Rachel’s drink needed to be returned to her, and I had to seek her out. Second most humiliating thing to happen to me at a Dublin gay bar.

But that was not the end of the night. The girls and I ended up dancing again, and then I lost track of them in all the people and the smoke machine smoke, and I ended up dancing by myself with a handful of very randy couples all around me. Sure, I was a little jealous. It’s nice to be made-out with on the dance floor occasionally. Then this older gentleman (I’m guessing maybe... 37, but it’s hard to say) reached out his hand for me to lift him up onto the stage with me. And then an older woman did the same thing and I thought, a tad bitchily, ‘Is this my job now? Will I be tipped?’ but next thing I knew the older guy was dancing with me. ‘I’m going to let this happen,’ I thought. It was fun... for a little while. But after only about five minutes he began to venture with his hands further and further south. And this was not traditional over-the-clothing touching. He attempted to both go under the clothing AND unzip my pants. Shocked, I just kept literally pulling his hands up and away, but he was persisted. Honestly, my thoughts were less on being molested and more of the ‘I am not about to be kicked out of the bar for this drunken fool’s lecherousness!’ It turned out his was drunker than I thought, because at one point he grabbed me and the two of us almost toppled off the stage together and I gave him a little slap on the arm.

So after I lost him, I realized I would not find the girls again, so I headed home. Partly down George street a young lad approached me on the street. Now because ‘Gigantic’ had a subplot about a homeless man who had a violent and completely unexplained vendetta against Paul Dano, my first thought was ‘Oh my, he’s gonna kill me’. Then, because I had my cell out, I thought he was just going to ask to use my phone. But as he started to walk beside me he asks, “Where’re ye from?” “Canada.” “Canada! What’s... what’s the capital of Canada there?” “Ottawa.” “Is it now? Yes. I don’t know what I would’ve said... Montenegro or something... well, have a good night!” And he was gone.

And that’s not even the end of the stories from that night! Walking past The Bleeding Horse pub, I got in the middle of these group of four young people (three girls and a guy) and began laughing at two of them as they weaved some drunken scenario about waking up in dirt. “Oh, this was ill-thought out! I slept in soil!” It reminded me of the way my friends and I talk and I started giggling. The two girls in front of me turned around and asked if I was laughing at them. Before I knew it I was explaining once again what I was doing in Dublin and was being invited to go get “chippys” with them. I wasn’t even hungry, but they seemed so friendly and funny and I have been dreaming for weeks of going out for greasy food with friends after a night at the bar, I had to say yes. Turned out two of them lived near Ranelagh so we walked home together. It was a pretty nice way to end the evening.