Monday, November 07, 2005


Waterfront Bar

Be forewarned, I will share not only when my mind roils with turbulence: I'll share the inner most working of my mind during an act of over-compensation. I think you might enjoy this journal entry as I wrote in the moment while I was at the Water Front Bar on India Street.

I read in Paulo Coelho's book Eleven minutes; Maria writes ..."Men are very strange, they can beat you up, shout at you, threaten you, and yet they're scared to death of women really. There's always one woman who frightens them and forces them to submit to their caprices; even if it's their own mother."

I know I am generally good with my masculinity but as my friend Deborah reminded me today, I was afraid of going cute when I wrote about the lamb. Dammit, I submitted to the caprices of cute. I was emasculated by my own pen-traitorous! One thing I need to address: is this journal class influencing me to write as a man-gina? I wonder...I need to pay attention to this. A girl friend with a penis I am not! No way! No how! Emasculation is what men are afraid of. Emasculation! Shit, it was emasculation by my writing. I cannot believe I wrote about gnawing on a stupid lamb. I can't believe I shared it-pathetic...

Where to begin, this journal entry began at home then on to the "Melon Patch" or more commonly known as the Waterfront Bar. Yes, it is the same bar where Marlon Brando made headlines in “On the Waterfront”. The “Melon Patch” reference refers to the women’s breasts who worked behind the bar. Here I am now at the oldest bar in San Diego; at least it had the first liquor license in San Diego. I've just ordered Huevos ala Americana and a Bloody Mary. It feels good to write here.

Right now it feels like a boor’s nest of belligerence in this place. It smells like fish and I want to eat it. The grease and the hot sauces are part of the furniture so are the waste of hundreds of bottles of booze. The refrigerators are churches of steel, housing the spirits of beer and directly in front of me-the tap handles. They are as follows: Guiness, Miller, Budwieser, Sierra Nevada, Yellow Tail Ale, Stone Ale, Bass Ale, Sam Adams, Newcastle, etcetera. It looks like I can do a sentence using the beer names and a verb here and there: "Look there is Bud and Miller with Sam Adams kicking back in his Newcastle in the lovely Sierra Nevada eating Yellow Tail and Bass."

The man sitting next to me just finished 3 shots of Jagermiester. He introduces himself as JT and is curious about my writing. So I share my beer sentence with him as I continue to write. I'm hungry as I haven't eaten anything this morning. My food's palatable; in fact it's pretty good. There are a few guys admiring my vette. It's pretty cool but I don't really want to talk while I eat. I want my solitude. I figure people drinking in the morning really don't do deep. These people are drinking and draining lots of booze and quite a few smoke unfiltered camels. It is in the air and they are here to get slammed, "City Slammed" in the morning. Whoa, the woman behind the bar just shone the waist band of her thong as she bent down to grab what JT called the elixirs of life (he is obviously talking about the bottles of booze)! Peeking thong straps seems to be the “fashionista de guerre” for the younger women. I like it! JT lights another camel and tells me he's on the wagon but today he feels like celebrating. I can't blame him for that!

Damn, there is some slim elbow room here. It looks like JT Jagermiesters are kicking in as he is getting really friendly with the girls. It feels awkward because the people think he is with me. Wowee-he just asked me for a ride!? I asked "where do you live?" He says 'three blocks up" I then blurted "what are you a man-gina?! You need to walk dude!" I don't think he quite got the message but he says "you got a point" I bought him another Jagermiester and he then made his way home-walking. He seems to be walking straight.

It's time for me to go too, "la cuenta, por favor!" I like that they know what that means. This entry looks like an over compensation for writing about that damn cutesy lamb. I still can't believe I did such a disgusting and despicable act! I'm not down with that.

Speaking of over-compensation... I've always heard it said (isn't this true ladies?) that men who drive Corvettes are over-compensating for having a small penis. And that eating lamb is a sign of true virility. Could just be an urban myth though...
One urban myth is that Pink a masculine color.

Another urban myth is that women want a sweet sensitive man who she can care for.

This vintage Corvette is the gift for the boy who dreamed of this particular muscle car during the muscle car era. As you know, it's lines are sensual and the rumble unmistakable.

I'll gnaw on roast lamb but not a little cutesy rubber one!
I didn't know that one about eating lamb. Good observation about the thongs, however. Some of the young ladies do need to get out of the habit; thongs only go well with some--actually they always embarrassed me--I always figure my body is too imperfect.

I am not sure what you considered to be emasculating, unless that is a way of whistling in the dark. I've had your situation before with women, and often I haven't known what to do. Bars are odd places. Sometimes they are full of lies and deceit, but they can also be the most honest places in the world. Maybe I should elaborate on that in a post, but that will bring me back to the days when I was a bad girl.
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