The Whole Story
Dear JP:
In response to your request for a reminder on said“ass kicking,” please post the following on the blogto bring everyone up to speed with what you have(understandably) tried so hard to forget.
Barely more than three years ago, I was coming out ofa restaurant down on NW 21st in Portland. I don’tusually frequent that part of town, especially onFathers Day, as my typical ritual would be to treat myPop to one of his favorite digs in old town Vancouver. On this particular occasion, however, dear old Dadwas on a business trip back east so I decided toaccompany a friend and her father to lunch on hisspecial day.
We had just enjoyed an awesome lunch—I had thepan-seared mahi-mahi, as I recall, which wouldn’ttypically whet my whistle but I had a hankerin’ and soI splurged. There must have been something strangeabout that day. Something very, very strange indeed.
We walked out of the restaurant, finding ourselvessuddenly swathed in a relentless parade of pinkspandex and feathers, chanting like the high-pitchedcackling sound of breeding albatrosses and the pungentodor of what seemed to be Drakkar Noir wafting in theearly summer breeze. What was all the commotion, youask? Turns out the gay pride parade was in full bloomthat day.
I grabbed my friend’s hand, something I wouldn’ttypically do with her father standing behind me, andwe tried to make our way through the crowd. Turningto shield her face from a passing bevy of turquoisefeathers from a flamboyant showgirl impersonator (asany gentleman would), I accidentally bumped againstsomething with my elbow and turned to see what it was.
And there, before me, stood RP (er, JP as I knew then)decked out in a peach-colored sequin dress with onlyone shoulder strap—full regalia—stilted atop a verylarge pair of clear stiletto heels and wrapped in awhite feathery boa. I’ll never forget that horrible,horrible sight as long as I live.
“JP… is that you?” I asked, squinting to see beyondthe blue mascara and dark eye shadow. I wasn'tcertain if I really wanted to know.
"You elbowed me in the jaw!” (s)he said, shoving myshoulder with one arm and hiking up his dress with theother. “Listen, church boy, you’re not going to treatME like that!”
“Whoa!” I said. “I'm sorry about the elbow--it wasjust an accident… but out of curiosity, JP, what thehell are you doing marching in a gay parade?” Youthink you know a guy. (Not that there was anythingwrong with him doing that, I was just wondering.)
“It’s MY LIFE!” he snapped, and I don't just meanfiguratively. Literally, he snapped his fingers in a“Z” pattern. “I’ll march wherever I damn well please,so get out of my way before I kick your fat ass withmy pointy shoes, you idiot!” And when he finishedsnapping, he slapped me, leaving a white handprintacross my cheek. I was dumbfounded that I had justbeen assaulted by JP in a dress! I couldn’t figure itout… I paused and wondered, should I defend myself orlet him get away with further assaulting me? I wouldnever (ever!) hit a girl and I wasn't even comfortableduking it out with someone who even LOOKED like agirl. But this was no ordinary situation... and thiswas no girl.
I decided I wasn’t going to take that kind ofbullying, especially from one of those dorky kids fromchurch wearing fake eye lashes and badly appliedlipstick, and even more especially this one.
“Dude, you call me an idiot once more and I’m gonnakick your ass,” I warned, not even caring about theslap, “I don’t care if you are dressed up like LizaMinelli.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” he said belligerently. “You mostdefinitely ARE an idiot, which means, you’re a foolishor stupid person. I know that because I looked it uponline,” and JP slapped me again on the other cheek. I just couldn’t believe I had two whitehandprint-shaped welts, one on each cheek, yet hadn'tdone a single thing to deserve either one
I don’t want to brag, because what happened next mademe feel just awful, leaving JP in a whole lot of painand without very many feathers left to speak of. AndI don’t want to explain any of the detailsspecifically because the whole thing just shouldn'thave happened, but I will say that JP got himself awalloping like he’s never known before or since. AndI won't even mention the thong-wedgie that left himcurled up on the sidewalk dry-heaving.
I got a press-on nail stuck in my ear, a bloody shinfrom those damned shoes of his, two white slap-weltson my face, bite marks on my wrist and a bruise on myforehead the shape of a large princess-cut emerald,which scabbed up and left a faint scar that I havesince passed off as where I hit my head on a ski-liftbolt. But otherwise, I came out unscathed. At least Iwalked away on my feet.
I do believe Reformed Pope got his ass kicked thatday.
And there you have it, the whole unforgettable nineyards. I’ve never mentioned anything about it untilnow, and now everyone will know the real story behindmy forehead scar. But you asked for it.
Regards,
Cattle List
posted by Johnpaul Morton | 10:14 AM
|
2 comments
