You're Not One of Those Amateur Fags...

...goddamnit, you are a professional in all of your gay endeavors! Especially when it comes to drinking. So you are extremely annoyed on Saint Patrick's Day when all the amateurs come out of their suburban closets and descend upon the city to do some loud, obnoxious drinking, clad in head-to-toe, you guessed it, spiffy green clothing.

So you decide to avoid the whole Hot Green Mess when your sober gal-pal emails you about grabbing a bite to eat. Since Double-A lives in Logan's Run (a.k.a. The 'burg), she suggests going to Dumont for a little post-birthday celebration. After a flurry of Reply All's (which always make you nervous because with your big mouth you are usually bound to end up offending someone) you quickly realize that tonight you will be Standing In for Michael York in his famous role of Logan, since you are *ahem* over thirty. This, of course, is evident by both your blinking Palm Light as well as the amount of money you spend each month on anti-aging products sold by Charlatans moonlighting in the cosmetic industry. But you digress.

You and your BFF take the L train to Lorimer and when you get out of the station you look around and say, "Toto, I don't think we're in Chelsea anymore." The one nice thing about the Williamsburg Slacker Factor (actually the only nice thing) is that nobody is wearing anything green. You also haven't seen even one "Kiss Me I'm Irish" button since you set foot on the L train. You have, however, noticed two original Charlie's Angels T-shirts and one '70s Iron-On with a fraying picture of a Corvette that actually says, "Wipe Your Ass In Fiberglass." But it's all good because the Corvette is not British Racing Green.

While waiting for a table in the back bar at Dumont, you all get a non-green, non-Irish beer. Eventually your table is ready and you end up sitting down next to Double-A who starts asking you and your BFF about your recent Griswald Family European Vacation. You tell her about all the thin European boys, but about how you were (for the most part) a good boy because you are actually dating someone that you really, really like. Double-A is shocked, mostly because she knows how fickle your gay ass can be, and she's never known you to swoon over any boy. And she definitely has never known you to pass up some gay European nookie before! And that's when some Random Hipster Girl pops her hand through the vines of a plant that is separating your tables. For a second you feel like you are Seymour being attacked by Audrey II in The Little Shop of Horrors, but you quickly realize that, although you are definitely being attacked by a Kleenex, Random Hipster Girl has no idea what's really going on when she rudely says, "Here's a tissue if you'd like to blow your nose!" in a manner that is much more hostile than helpful.

You are slightly horrified because, although you don't even notice it anymore, your friend Double-A has Tourette's Syndrome, and, although she doesn't yell inappropriate swear words at inopportune moments, she does constantly clear her throat in a manner that sounds as if she is suffering from terrible allergies while snorting mounds of cocaine. But you are extremely impressed when Double-A turns to Random Hipster Girl and says in the nicest possible tone that in no way shape or form could be considered patronizing, "Actually I don't need a tissue, thank you. I have Tourette's Syndrome. Do you know what that is?" And you are completely impressed by your friend who is handling this difficult situation in such an amazingly calm manner.

And that's when Random Hipster Girl snaps back with, "Of course I know what Tourettes is!" You instantly want to yank out the bitch's eyebrow ring and pour bleach all over her Ironic Vintage T-Shirt Collection. But Double-A continues the conversation without raising her soothing tone, "Well it's just a tic from my Tourettes that I have no control over, so actually I don't need that tissue because it wouldn't help."

Random Hipster Girl stutters uncomfortably while waving the white Kleenex in a manner that in no way suggests defeat, "Well, I think you should just take the tissue!" Unfortunately that's when you can't help but pipe in, "Didn't you hear her? She doesn't need your damn tissue!" But Random Hipster Girl throws the tissue onto your table anyway, while giving you a nasty look reminiscent of a Nazi child who has just uncovered Anne Frank's secret hiding place. You are absolutely sure that Random Hipster Girl will, at her earliest convenience, inform the appropriate 'burg authorities that someone over thirty has illegally crossed the Williamsburg Bridge.

Although you are quite shaken up, Double-A seems to be surprisingly immune to the situation. You immediately inform her about how impressed you are with how she handled the unnecessary confrontation, and she explains that, "It happens all the time. For some reason people are really angered by my tic." And it's really unfortunate, not for your friend, but for the Angry Amateurs who shower Double-A with tactless tissues instead of recognizing the beautiful and amazing person that can be found just beyond her noisy tic. And with that you throw the offensive tissue back over at the Random Hipster Girl. Anyway...