Mackin' with Jesus

Saturday was the birthday of a young woman I know. She's cool, has great taste in music, some big tattoos and she cuts my hair when I can be bothered to tame my mullet back into hair that a non-caveman hippie human should have. I assumed that she would probably have a bunch of cool female friends so I invited one of the few guy friends I have here in SF to join me.

The best-looking woman at the dinner party was - and I'm not sure the proper term here so I'll just use all of them and be utterly politically incorrect - a midget, dwarf, little person, hobbit.*

At the Beauty Bar we watched some very attractive lipstick lesbians dance until the music just became utter shit and the visual enjoyment was overwhelmed by the auditory irritation. Then my friend and I went off to another place to have a drink. There were no lipstick lesbians or midgets there and shockingly we were able to get a table on a Saturday night.

When my friend popped off to the bathroom this Chinese woman and a tall guy with a salt and pepper beard invited themselves to sit down across from me. They looked interesting so I didn't care that they'd just plopped down. Jeff and Cindy introduced themselves and Jeff told me they'd just been talking about the reproductive tendencies that have been hard-wired into the male mind. I think I impressed them by telling them about a few authors and works I've read on the subject. I asked if they were discussing the topic from a modern sociological standpoint or a more anthropological point of view. Jeff didn't know what to make of that. I think his drinks were catching up with him because I didn't understand his response.

My friend returned and we asked Cindy, the Chinese chick, how she and Jeff knew each other. This proved to be the absolute best question to have possibly asked her. It was probably the only interesting area of conversation to be mined but it was a productive shaft to chip at.

It turned out that Cindy was here from England going to art school and she was currently doing a video installation entitled "If God doesn't do it for you, try making out with his son." Here is the gist of it. When she was a girl attending Catholic School she was fascinated with the image of Jesus that hung in her auditorium. She was particularly entranced with his beard which she would day dream about often. So now her video installation entails her filming herself making out with men whom she doesn't really know who have beards. As she explained it "I like to go to their apartments after arranging to meet them and I video tape them making out with me for as long as we can until it becomes uncomfortable or awkward." She had recorded just seven guys so far and she was feeling a bit down about her low number of subjects. When Jeff went to get more drinks and probably flirt with other women she confessed that she had developed a bit of a crush on this guy Jeff who she had just met because he is in an all beard-having, male, acapella group that sings Leonard Cohen songs. The name of the group is Conspiracy of Beards so it seemed a good idea to approach this group and try and convince some of these guys to make out with her on camera.

I asked her to show me how she would ask me if I had a beard so that we could see her approach and I have to say it was about as terrible as one could imagine. I gave her some pointers on how to talk to these guys and I suggested that she should go down to the Castro district and see if gay men would be open to the idea.

She told me she was writing my name and number down in her little book because I had "a special quality about me." I made it clear that I had no plans to grow a beard anytime soon so I doubt I will actually hear from Cindy, the Chinese chick with a wide-on for guys that look like Jesus who makes a weak attempt to hide her fetish as something resembling art.

I never understood why any woman would want to have a beard up rub against their face while kissing a man.

* I know you were hoping this post was going to be about how I had hot, kinky, sex with a little person. I can't say I blame you.