Sometimes it's easier to tell your truth to complete strangers than to your closest friends.
I really had never discussed my health status with one of my closest friends in The L.V.. I hadn't because whenever the subject of HIV came up he always seemed a little weirded out by it.
I knew I liked Gigantor the moment I met him at my favorite bar Funhog. I used to go there with my very first stalker almost every nite. Yeah, my first stalker. He was standing at the bar with his strangely over confident chubby friend.
Actually, he was looming over the bar. See, homie is like 8' 10". No. Really. And relatively cute. That's if you like tall, handsome, just the right color, black men with pretty teeth. Whatever. Anyway I commented to my stalker that it was really unusual to see a specimen quite like this one in Vegas, let alone at Funhog. Actually, especially at Funhog. Well, single black stalker ran over to him and immediately frightened him. Of course I went over and found out he was funny and really smart. Why he even went to Standford! Twice.
Cut. Chase. Valentines day (my favorite Holiday) comes along and Gigantor has a little soiree at his maisonette (two french words, once sentence. Pow Dow!). I went to use the bathroom and Gigantor was folding and re-folding a towel like Howie Mandel on meth. I asked him, wtf? He said it was because his chubby somewhat slutty over confident friend hadn't re-folded the towel correctly. Oh-kayee. Well, me never being one to take the round about way to Grandmothers house says, "you're sorta crazy huh?" Without missing a beat or crushing me with his Bigfoot like appendages he said, "OCD". At that point I knew I liked him. No excuses. No drama. No "get the fuck out of my house once you put down that rib". Just "OCD." My type o' Guy. Besides, I never leave when someone says that to me.
Well, it was 330am Saturday when I was at my wits end on exactly who could help with a twenty to get me to Denver and I decided to roll the dice and send Gigantor my email. At what I think was sunrise my phone rings. It's Gigantor. He wants to know if I was hungry. Hmph. Do I look like I ever miss a meal? I tell him about some lovely bistros near my house and inform him if he's paying, I'm eating. "Well", Gigantor says in a voice that implied he had something on his mind, "I actually was thinking of some place that serves Mimosas". I asked if he meant brunch. "Drunken breakfast, brunch, whatever you need to call it." Did I mention he's my type o' guy?
So, I figure he hasn't read his email yet. I know he checks it constantly (Fold. Refold.Fold.) so I figure by the time we meet for brunch (drunken breakfast) he'll have read it and will have on a SARS mask and rubber gloves. To avoid embarassement ( I have no idea how to spell that. And don't care. Get your own blog.) I say, "uh, have you checked your email?". I'm waiting for I don't even know what when Gigantor says, "your letter?" I says, "yeah". Gigantor comes back with, "how much do you need? Do you have airfare yet?" AIRFARE! Bitch I'm barely scraping up "that's just my baby daddy" Greyhound scratch.
OOH, can you imagine 26 hours from The L.V. to Denver? Girl. I would have to snatch some hoe by her purple, stacked way too high, shellacked, Mary J. Blige when she was a hot mess hairdon't by the time we hit Moab. If you've ever been on Greyhound you know.
So after I scoff, Gigantor says, really calmly, "I'll pay for your airfare right now." On the spot! Did I mention, ON THE SPOT?! All right black man! I started to cry (I'm such a weepy bitch.). Not "I found Jesus", cry, but, cry none the less. After I said thank you like a million times, Gigantor says, "so when can you meet me at The Hilton?"
BITCH STILL BOUGHT ME LUNCH!
That's a friend.
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