Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

What a weekend. My mother always told me that "they" would be knocking down my door. This always meant women would want to go out with me because I am really, really, ridiculously good looking like Derek Zoolander, minus the black lung. Well apparently "they" meant women and men.

My buddy Tom and I spent a lovely afternoon at the Barclays Golf Tournament at the beautiful Westchester Country Club. While we weren't listening to pathetic middle-aged men in the gallery (wearing golf shoes to watch a golf tournament) oogling at Vigay Singh, I was busy picking up the hot Australian XM Satellite Radio girl who was trying to sell me some crappy radio. I mean come on. If I am going to buy a satellite radio, then it certainly isn't going to be an XM. It's going to be a Sirius since not only does it carry Howard Stern but I own Sirius stock.

So what does this have to do with today's post you may ask? Well the night before I was in New York City. I've learned that you have to look good when you go out in New York City but I've also learned that there are two types of women out there. Those that like Sex and The City and those that don't. I prefer the later. Those that like that show are busy gossiping about expensive shoes and sunglasses all while drinking cosmopolitans at the latest chic bar or club. These are the same girls who usually have nothing interesting to say because they are too busy thinking about themselves and think they are better than everyone (See past blog post).

The later group are much more interesting. They have probably read books other than "The Devil Wears Prada" and "The Da Vinci Code". They have probably seen different parts of the world, met different people, and experienced different cultures. They have probably developed their own sense of fashion and strive to be different. Basically they don't need some cheesy supermarket magazine to tell them what clothes to wear. So why am I writing about this? Because in my attempt to meet more interesting, erudite, unpretentious people I have gone back to my roots (see past blog post): the laid-back, alternative, who gives a fuck look.

So anyway, to make a long story short, I was wearing jeans from Gap, my new navy blue Chuck Taylor's (see past blog post), and a sweater from Guess. It was 70% off. As I walking to get in a cab for our long trip back to Connecticut, a guy approaches me and asks me where I got my sweater. "Guess," I reply. He proceeds to grab my shoulder and inform me that it has the most perfect raglan sleeves and that it fits me perfectly. I have no idea what raglan sleeves are but it must be good if a gay guy is telling me. I say thank you and he gets in a cab with his friend/partner. As they are leaving his friend/partner says, "You look perfect, a guaranteed booty call."

Now hear is my dilemma. Should I be totally repulsed that a flaming homosexual grabbed my shoulder and told me how good I look? Or should I be totally flattered that a flaming homosexual grabbed my shoulder and told me how well I dress? I go with the later. I mean he was gay...not that there's there anything wrong with that.