The Carnie and the Crying Guy

The night I met The TSG, I was with Mary and Erica at the Allmighty Molotov's, and right as Spanish Bombs came on, I felt a jab in my side. I turned, verging on furious to see one who has only ever been known on this l'il blog as That One. Oh That One that I spurned so harshly so long ago, that in my post god-knows-what phase I all but refused when he handed me his phone number after what I assumed would be but a one night tet-a-tet.
As it turned out, he became more and more of a figure in my circle of friends, and the next couple of months found me avoiding his third-hand invitations to parties and the like, and then my head slowly began to clear. Unfortunately, my new found clarity only afforded me a view of something I could no longer have. This of course made me want it desperately.

Last week at Hemlock, shortly after Grace's boyfriends arrival, tiny tee and all, I looked across the bar to see the unmistakable image of--that's right--A Carnie. One of my fellow co-workers from the circus was right across the room, chain smoking holding a PBR in typical Carnie style.

I don't know why I hadn't expected it to happen earlier. I mean, the dive bar is The Carnies' natural habitat, but suddenly it seemed so very fucking odd. Then, it quickly got more odd.

Mid our reunion (read: omigod, how's Crystal? How's Kyle? Do you ever see Kevin?), who should call me over from across the bar? Oh shit--what's he doing here? That One only hangs out at 'Tovs, what's he doing at Hemlock?

He is drunk, and he is hugging me, and there are all manner of gestures and the like that lead me to believe that maybe, just maybe...

And just like that I realize that Lower Haight was so very fucking long ago, and there are new distractions right here in Lower Nob Hill, and there are new boys that make me want to reconcile what goes on in my own head, brand new boys that I can't have that I now realize I want so fucking desperately.

But there are holes, you know? Holes that I have poked in perfection that act as happiness control. This means that should we (and I mean right now the general we; this has happened many times) ever "be together", even though this would most likely happen shortly after the first snowball is thrown in hell, I already have a predetermined exit strategy in mind based on all the little inconsequential things that I don't like about them. That One's flaw? Ahh. I was lucky enough to be told in confidence by his ex-girfriend that on top of being a serial monogamist, she found out upon their demise that he is a perfect specimen of the much feared but rarely seen Crying Guy. Oh yes its true--he with black shaggy hair and tattooed hands bearing a PBR or two is the fucking Crying Guy. Eeew.

Oh, right. Now I am guided by neccesity to name the other ones' flaw. TNK? Yeah, as I've noted before, he's a veritable child. I saw him the other night, though. Bar-time antics involving store bought beer as per usual. He's doing good.

So. What to do now? I have 28 days left of being 26 years old and what am I left with? Roll call.

"Okay. Boy I can have but don't want?"


"Thanks, good to see you. Allright, boy I can't have and want really bad but see as a liability?"


"Great. Now is boy I didn't want but then did and now I guess I don't anymore but might be able to have here today?"

"Yeah, right here."

"Wow. Great turn out. Now...oh, I didn't expect that name on my list. I thought he dropped this class, but it seems we are supposed to have a boy I was supposed to love but never did? Are you with us today? Hello?"



huntsmanic said...

i'm here, too. i mean, i know i don't present any emotional or physical conflict; but i think i deserve a name on the roll call.


Moxie said...

Oh fuck, you're right. I forgot aint no balcony high enough to keep this boy from me.

huntsmanic said...

man alive, i somehow forgot you were 26 still. that means you were like 12 when we met.

Moxie said...

For all of you readers out there, I was actually 23, not 12.