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You know what I mean

Social Chaos: Bill's Briefs


We of a certain age are well acquainted with the term “senior moment” or, as others quaintly phrase it “brain fart.” I have found it popping up quite often recently at my weekly men’s discussion group. While having coffee we solve the world’s problems. The jealous powers-that-be refuse to acknowledge us, thus we progress toward the great doom.

Familiar to us all are those embarrassing struggles to get a word or name correct. Just last week when I was in the check-out line with only a quart of milk and a pack of diet Twinkies, I tried to work my charm on a muscular “home massage therapist” type so he’d let me cut in front. My ploy was to admire his “Freak Forever” neck tattoo, but the words which came to mind definitely were not about his neck, in fact, nothing above his disgracefully tight jeans. The result was, “You’ve got a great … um, er. Wow that’s some … er, er. Your … Your … you know, is impressive.” As my eyes rolled madly and my grin became increasingly maniacal, he backed away with more than a hint of panic in his eyes. I slipped in front croaking, “Thanks.”

More and more frequently I engage in bizarre communication like: “I loved that movie ‘Big something …’ You know … No, the one with, with … You know, the blond … No, no the other one, with the leg … Yes, yes with the purple thing. That’s it! What a bitch. Wasn’t it great?”

Does any of that ring a bell? We get right in the middle of a sentence or even a word and it happens. I was helping a friend fix a table and actually asked for a “??” and finally, out came, “pound thing.” I meant a hammer. A new medicine is supposed to help, but I can’t remember its name.

Two people. One bed

LGBT travelers in Asia used to have trouble finding a hotel where they could be themselves and, if lucky, bring back someone of the same sex for an all-night political discussion. Large cities usually had a few hotels reported by the grape vine, but often it was a gamble. Lucky ones had a friend (of a friend of a friend) who had a sofa bed or blow-up mattress. Your partner’s family would put you up, of course, but you’d have to sleep separately and banter about sorely missed loved-ones of the opposite sex.

Often nobody was fooled, but family honor and respectability demanded the fiction be maintained. Today same-sex couples cannot only get a double room, but cruise lines and travel agencies can assign roommates. This is a great money saver, but horror stories abound. Let the buyer beware.

As always when dealing with LGBT issues, in certain areas (often heavily Muslim) it is still unwise to flaunt a same-sex relationship. Accepting the hotel’s twin room is wise; requesting a double bed causes raised eyebrows, snickers or just plain “Sorry we’re full.”

As a rule, bringing a friend to spend the night in a single room is no big deal, but don’t bother trying to sneak them in. Nothing will be said, but the next day the charge on the bill will be for two people. Many places require a guest’s ID to be left at the front desk and you must come together to pick it up. This prevents the staff from finding you dead in a pool of blood. They hate that.

Today most hotels in the Far East welcome all types of well-behaved foreign couples. If you feel bad vibes, pay for the one night and move on, but in high season, don’t check out until you’ve found a new one.

Short URL: http://lgbtweekly.com/?p=77287

Posted by on Feb 2, 2017. Filed under Bill's Briefs, Latest Issue. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

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