The Best Men I Know

It went like this. I had been spouting wild ideas for weeks about leaving the corporate world behind to become a makeup artist, or to buy property in Idaho, or to get an RV and just go on the road for a year, vagabond-style. Crazy talk, some of which I was only half-kidding about. I realized that every time I came home with another idea, Gil’s response was always, “Ok, let’s do it. I would follow you into the mists of Avalon.” He’s pretty great. And supportive. And adventurous. And loving.

At the same time, I was trying to figure out what to get my dad for Father’s Day. As I thought about what I wanted to say to my dad, and how he’s always believed in me and been there for me, I realized that the old adage is true… I wound up with someone just like my dad. And I consider myself incredibly lucky.

And so the other day, I sent Gil this (slightly rambling) email:

You are the best man I know.  Well, except for my dad… he’s pretty awesome. And in a lot of ways you are kind of like him. Some of them are big ways, like how much you would do for the ones you love, and some of them are just weird, like your mutual obsession with cozies. They say women always end up marring their father, and I always thought that was a little creepy. And what if your dad was a jerk or a deadbeat? Would you be doomed to marry a loser like that? Anyway, I’m glad my dad isn’t a tool, and I’m even gladder (more glad?) that I found you. Cuz you’re awesome. So I guess it’s not so creepy to think I’d end up with someone like my dad. Plus, it means you two get along so that makes life easier for everyone. What was my point? Oh, that you’re the best man I know, but with a caveat about my dad. You are equally as amazing as my dad.

And I love you. A lot. You kind of opened up my life in this way I didn’t even realize was possible. All this dreaming and planning and thinking about the things I want to do with my life… I’m pretty sure you were a catalyst for that. Or you were a catalyst for me being a happier, more complete version of myself, which was the catalyst for this whole existential crisis adventure/life exploration I’m experiencing.

So yeah, you’re pretty great. And you have good hair. Love you.

Stripper Problems

????????Normally when your boyfriend tells you he was almost kicked out of a strip club, one might become alarmed. Angry even. What kind of behavior would it take to get booted from one of the most notoriously trashy strip clubs in the Bay Area? Groping? Harassing of the strippers? Fighting? Public urination??

The boyfriend in question is mine, and this conversation happened just a couple weeks ago. It all started when he was organizing a bachelor party for one of his friends. A low-key affair involving a day of shooting followed by dinner and beers. I’d asked if they were going to go to a strip club, and he told me no, that wasn’t really the groom’s style. Not that I particularly care – I am not one of those women who finds strip clubs offensive. I think it’s all in good fun and if you can’t trust your man at a strip club, your relationship has bigger problems than the implants swinging in his face. Plus, Gil happens to have a debilitating aversion to glitter and lotion – a stripper is basically walking kryptonite to him.

But, in a rather unsurprising turn of events, after a few rounds of drinks, they decided to pile into a couple cabs and head over to the only strip club any of them knew in the area. This place has been around for decades, is practically falling apart, and calling their strippers the B-team is wildly generous. Since it’s full nude, they don’t serve alcohol there and I can just imagine him essentially pouting in a sea of breasts. He winds up paying for the groom’s lap dance and settles in to kill time by playing pinball on his phone while the strippers do their thing on stage. Yes. That is what I said. HE STARTS PLAYING PINBALL ON HIS PHONE IN THE MIDDLE OF A STRIP CLUB. I think I fell in love with him a little more when I heard that.

One of the strippers (I’m going to imagine her stage name was Karma) must have seen this happening and decided to take matters into her own hands – literally. As he described it to me, he was sitting to the side of the stage, minding his own business and was rocking an epic game of pinball. You have to understand, he lives and breathes video games and arcade games. He actually got me to sit through a documentary on arcade game competition once. And one of the items on his bucket list is to own a pinball machine. But I digress. Where was I? Ah, the stripper. As he’s about to unlock some high level or key or whatever (I try to listen, but some of these things don’t stick) a “beefy paw comes out of nowhere and grabs my fucking phone!”

Karma, in a cloud of lotion and glitter, offended he wasn’t paying attention to her seductive C-section scar and fake tits, stomps over to remove his “distraction” from the show. As he whips up to confront his pinball attacker, he sees it’s one of the strippers. And he almost wages a full on battle with her, seeing as how she ruined the game for him and  probably got glittery lotion on the screen of his phone. And I have to assume if she hadn’t immediately returned the phone, he really would have made a scene. He told me later how much of a concerted effort it was not to lose his shit, but at that point he was already on the bouncers’ radar.

Fast forward to me receiving a text from my boyfriend asking for a ride home from a strip club, explaining to me how he almost got kicked out. Because he’d rather play pinball than play with strippers.