See, the girls and I have sort of been experimenting with being Yankees fans. We didn't have a lot of time to really think of sports or treat New York as home a couple years ago, and last year Dad pointed out that not only was Queens closer to where we live in Brooklyn than the Bronx is, but just choosing to root for the Yankees is kind of front-runnung and phony, and we really didn't want to feel phony, so basically said we were Mets fans whenever it came up (which wasn't often) but didn't really have many chances to go to games anyway, so it didn't really matter. But Katey's boyfriend Omar is a Yankees fan - I guess it's a Manhattan finance bro thing - on top of the Mets kind of being an embarrassing disaster. Dad kind of picks up on the mood at the sports bar where she works, so we've kind of been vibing with the Yankees lately, even during the ugly losing streak and Judge going down. It doesn't come up a lot, because people don't assume girls like sports and I'm as likely to wear some of the Dodgers gear that I inherited from the original Monica anyway, even though most of it has gotten worn enough to be replace over the last couple years.
Anyway, a few days ago, Omar got 4 tickets from work and Jonah had something else, so I actually got to come along rather than being left behind while the two couples went on a double date. It was a really nice day, and we dressed for it with bare shoulders or lightweight jerseys and shorts - not like booty shorts or anything, but cut well above the knee like girls' shorts are. Normal stuff.
We take the subway, which Dad hates, sometimes because she's not really a city girl at heart and would rather drive even if we can't afford a car, and sometimes because guys seem to really enjoy being packed into a tight space with her. Then there's a security line that's longer than you'd find at the airport, only it's outside so you get all sweaty. Despite that, we're kind of excited, because the Red Sox are in town and that's a thing even though Razzy and all the other locals act like it's not, but were sure a lot more upset than usual when the Yankees lost on Friday.
We try to just hang out and chat, which you can do at a Mets game, bit is a lot harder at Yankee Stadium because there's something on the loudspeakers all the time, which Dad uni l insists on yelling me is not normal and not right. I wind up talking to Dad a lot more than Katey and Omar, who are as glued-together as usual, but that's okay, because we're both really busy lately: Everyone who just graduated college is trying to find an apartment in the city, and the bar she works at is getting mobbed on nights the Knicks play. We barely see each other at home right now, so it's really nice to just hang.
A few innings in, someone tries to squeeze past us without saying "coming through!" so Dad's hot dog with a whole ton of mustard gets squished into her jersey. She takes it off with a sigh, because she's got a camisole on underneath, and we both know that the getting-hit-on is about to go way up. It's been going on all afternoon, including a couple of guys who kept asking if we'd changed our minds every time that snaking security line had its passing again (which, admittedly, is kind of a good bit), but after a while, it kind of tapered off, because everyone within a couple rows has shot their shot, and even the guys who don't want to take no for an answer have someone with them saying "dude, she's not interested, let's just watch the game!" So it picks back up again, and then stops, to the point where we're not really thinking about it when a song comes on between innings, and we bop around a bit, not seeing that there was someone with a great big camera near our section, and suddenly we're on the big screen and don't realize it until we look up because people are whooping. Dad turns away, embarrassed, and I try to save face by doing an exaggerated bow, but now a lot more people are trying to find us and try their luck.
By and large, we're able to turn them away with some combination of "got a boyfriend" from Dad and "just here to watch the game" from me, but one guy gets real persistent and Katey, annoyed and thinking she's helping, cuts in with "hey, fuck off, she's ace!" Dad and I groan and she's surprised, asking "what?", just as the guy says "are you sure, or maybe you've just never met the right guy!"
So then we get into the "yeah, I'm sure" / "showin' a lot of skin for someone who doesn't want to attract attention!" / "it's eighty degrees out" / "and the makeup?" / "none of your business, but I like looking nice when I'm out with friends!" / "oh, so maybe you're a dyke!" / "just fuck off!" / "fine, bitch!" exchange, which I've been in more than I'd like and which Dad has witnessed on occasion, but apparently Katey hasn't really noticed, and was actually kind of surprised that there's this extra level of guys pestering you beyond what she's experienced.
It's kind of weird posting about this during pride month, because you're supposed to let it all out, even if it's mostly an absence of stuff to let hang out. Still, sometimes it can feel less like you're not really different but just experiencing straight things to the minimum degree and aren't really queer (that thing about having been a guy until you stayed at a magic hotel aside, which is kind of ridiculous to say), and since most of the time you can just say something like "nah, I'm not looking to hook up tonight" and it's not untrue, but it's really frustrating, because I know I'm just putting it off a lot of the time.
It doesn't really bother me most days, but yesterday got to me, maybe because of the Pride thing and maybe because we were just trying to have fun at the ballpark and a thing I always thought would be kind of cool just made it harder.
-Rusty/Monica
No comments:
Post a Comment