Day Dos

Ever since I realized what it meant to be gay, I knew that it was an inherent disadvantage in a heteronormative world. When I was looking for an organization to do my internship with for my 3rd semester, I began by looking at cultural and political organizations; mostly think tanks centered on the EU's internal and external affairs. After 40 some odd unanswered e-mails to an equal number of organizations, I thought it best to take a new approach. During my coursework in Krakow we learned that there is indeed at least one pan-European GLBT special interest lobby. With time running out, I began looking for organizations that dealt with GLBT issues on the international level. Bingo! After contacting over 50 organizations, the two positive hits I got back were both from GLBT organizations - one in Warsaw, and the other in Amsterdam. I really had no desire to move to the 'Phoenix Capital', because Polish people don't even like it (although that might be a prejudice by Krakovians). And I had no desire to remain in Poland period. So my search ended there. And God, do I wish it hadn't.

When looking for an apartment, I found myself in a similar situation. I sent many, many e-mails to different people offering a room in their apartment, or the whole apartment itself, yet most people just ignored me. I assume it was because I wasn't writing to them in Dutch (imagine that). One day I ran across an ad where the author mentioned that he was gay, and it happened to be in my price range and it happened to be for the perfect length of time. I was invited to see the apartment. For once in my life, being gay was opening doors instead of closing them.


These are two fucking doors I wish had remained not only closed, but locked with the key thrown into the deepest crevasse in the ocean.

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So, sitting on the pier with ll turns into the most bizarre interaction I've ever had with another member of the homo sapiens species. I tried to ask ll why he came to Amsterdam in the first place, but his brain and his mouth were just not connecting. I could barely understand him, and for some dumb fucking reason he started speaking in a fake British accent. But not in a funny way. I will arrange what he said in the order that is most disconcerting.

The first thing he told me was that he was a hacker (and not an academic advisor at some online college as his business card might have some believe). In fact, he said that he had even hacked me, first name B last name (with emphasis on the B). Yes, that is indeed my middle initial, as indicated in my e-mail address. He then said that I had an honors degree from 'somewhere'. I just nodded my head, but in fact I don't have an honors degree from anywhere. I guess anyone who puts a name into google search and presses enter could be considered a hacker.

He also tells me that he was raised as a Jehovah's witness. Wow... issues? And that his family disowned him, but not in the official way. This prompted me to ask if he was still religious, and he replied that he was spiritual, WHICH ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS (yes, I know...). "I pray to God, I pray to Buddha, I pray to Gaia when I'm in the shower, asking that everything's going to be OK when I step out". Wait wait wait... back it up. You pray to Gaia? You pray to Gaia in our shower?? The shower that I use?? No no no... this is too much. I never thought Gaia was a real deity; something just made up for Dungeons and Dragons or some other fantasy realm where people are divorced from the norms of everyday society. ANY society.

At some point he announced that he had a book written about him. But it was only in Italian. Only then did he tell me the story - that he had an Italian 'lover' that he met online who came to live or visit him in Amsterdam. And this Italian guy had written a book about him, in Italian, which had his name, address, phone number, etc. printed inside.

Towards the end of the conversation, he said that some people called him the 'devil'. He said that he had done porn, he let it slip that he had HIV, and I assume he's done drugs, because I think the devil would be prone to that sort of activity.

Eventually ll wanted to leave, so I again tried to give him a lift on his bike. It wasn't working (surprise), so we got off and walked. He showed me the facade of his old apartment, which was just down the street from the pier. He said he was taking me to his boyfriend's apartment, who was away on a business trip. I wasn't opposed to this, seeing that it wasn't a tranny bar, but it didn't sound like a good time either. I knew something was awry when we upon arriving in front of his door, after climbing four treacherous flights of stairs, that the was unlocked. I told myself that maybe he unlocked it without me noticing, but when we got inside I realized that it really was unlocked, because there was already somebody in the apartment. ll then explained that this was his bf lived with his exbf, who was standing before us in his own apartment. bf's ex just stood there with his arms crossed, probably wondering what in the fuck this crazy drunk motherfucker is doing in his apartment in the middle of the night with some stranger in tow. ll then lifted both of his arms, similar to being crucified, and walked through the apartment, and showed me around. Awesome. His dog was staying there so he began playing with him and talking to him in his baby voice and then thankfully he decided it was time to leave.

Unfortunately, even after that deadly awkward encounter in a stranger's home, the night was STILL NOT OVER. We did indeed went to the tranny bar. It was bizarre. I don't even know if I could describe it, but I shall try. The place was quite small, but the bar area was fairly full of customers. Full of fat, creepy, ugly looking old men who were not in drag or even trannies. I can only describe the decor as kitsch to the max, and I remember seeing dolls strewn about the place. The bartender was an obese country bumpkin with a girlish voice. ll gave me money to order two pints of beer, one of which I proceeded to drink faster that I've ever imbibed any alcoholic drink before. There were several manish looking Americans there, with pot bellies, button down shirts, and goatees, however they had the most high pitched voices I've ever heard. They were definitely nerds, although instead of discussing the pros and cons of the latest Windows update, they were debating the history of Gay Pride in Amsterdam, which was coming up the next weekend. Great... gay history nerds. At one point ll lifted up my shirt and looked at my stomach. He also showed me his tattoos. I was severely, severely grossed out, more so than I've ever been in my life. I relished the opportunity to use the bathroom, which gave me some much needed alone time to regather my composure and to ask the cosmos for a blessing of courage. When I came back, a meth-faced crackhead who had been in the bar since we arrived, offered to sell ll some cocaine. Luckily ll declined. I don't know what I would have done if I was in the position where ll required medical assistance. I probably would have gone home, packed, and bought the first train ticket out of the Netherlands. I managed to finish the beer, but ll was not having it. He bought us shots of Malibu rum before we left the bar.

As we went home, he was mumbling something about doing something he didn't want to do, because his boyfriend was away. Did he want to go buy crack? Did he want to go have sex with someone? I had no idea, I didn't want to know at that point, so I didn't ask. All I wanted was to be on my couch in the US next to my mom reading a tabloid and my dad watching a Sci-Fi original movie, safe and sound at our house in nowhere, America, where no one ever gets HIV, where no one uses coke, where no one is a tranny, where no one prays to Gaia, and nothing ever happens.