Profiling the Local Yokels Part Three: Gay Steve

It all started with a dirty little martini. A Ketel One Dirty Martini, extra dry to be precise. Over time, it’s become my drink of choice when I wish too speed the process of inebriation (recently I’ve developed a distaste for the olive brine and have gone back to just drinking them neat, for those who care). I don’t recall the reason on this particular night, I most likely flew with Shanske and got an Unsat on a flight (the only grade he ever gave me, except on my dollar ride. He probably would have unsated me there too, but the only requirement was to sit in the plane and do nothing. I diverge). Typically when Ray and I would go to Callahan’s our topic of discussion would be sports. Ray would talk about how awesome the Red Sox and Patriots (haha, you lost) are. I would typically retort by pointing out I knew more of the Patriots Roster (a half dozen players) than Superfan did (3 members, and Kyle Brady is neither a starter nor Tom Brady’s brother). However, after ordering my beverage, the topic changed to the merits of Gin versus Vodka.

Basically, Vodka is better in every way imaginable. It doesn’t taste like Christmas trees. Any drink made with Vodka tastes better than it’s Gin counterpart. Vodka Martinis are far better than Gin. Vodka Tonic? Better than Gin and Tonic. Have you ever heard someone order a Gin Red Bull? I think not. I even went so far once as to accidentally leave a bottle of Bombay Sapphire (not cheap shit) at a friend’s just so I wouldn’t have to see it sitting in my freezer.
Just so happens, mid-debate, which I was dominating, Ray’s new “friend,” Steve, decides to give his two cents. Steve is an older gentleman, probably in his mid-to-late fifties, and always seemed to be at the bar, but had never interjected his thoughts up until now. Steve turned to look at Ray, and said: “Mmmm, gin is delicious.” At this point, we considered the debate suspended for the time being, and switched back to sports and flying.

It was on later occasions that I noticed that Steve would always look kind of lustfully in Ray’s direction. I also noticed that Steve, despite thinking gin was delicious, seemed to love his Grey Goose. I didn’t really put it together until a couple weeks after the Gin incident. I was hanging out at the bar before Ray had gotten there, and had already successfully thwarted a cougar attack (I had already tried going out with a girl 4 years my senior, and never wanted that experience again. When we broke up, she called me immature, so I plugged my ears with my fingers, yelled “I’m not listening!” and stormed out). One of the waitresses had approached me that night and asked if I was married. She was inquiring on behalf of a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, and so was of no interest to me. I told the waitress to tell her that I was, and in a stroke of genius, I slid my academy ring onto my left hand, backwards, and gave her a little wave. At the distance she was sitting, I'm certain it looked just like a wedding band.

The second Ray arrives at the bar, the bartender, Kacie, asks, “Hey, are you by any chance gay?” At this point, I burst out laughing because it’s not the first time someone’s suggested he is, and it always seems to piss him off. He turned to me, scarlet red in the face, and started calling me an asshole for putting Kacie up to this. Kacie then told him to stop yelling at me, and that an “interested party” had asked her to inquire. This, of course, drove me to more fits of laughter, and Ray’s embarrassment continued to increase. After much pressing, Kacie revealed that Ray’s secret admirer was none other than Steve.

The story doesn’t end here however. According to Ray, on one occasion when I wasn’t present, Steve went in for the kill and attempted (somewhat successfully from what I understand) to feel up Ray’s ass. Fortunately, Steve’s friend interceded and nobody suffered any injuries in the pending altercation.

Since then, I’ve occasionally caught a longing glance from Steve shot in Ray’s direction, but thankfully the fondle incident hasn’t been repeated.

Profiling the Local Yokels Part Two: Gordon Gekko

“Gekko” is not really a local. Rather, he is a persona that I encountered in Oklahoma City. To give you some background, Gordon Gekko is the character portrayed by Michael Douglas in Wall Street. Not a particularly good movie, not a particularly good performance, but somehow enough to earn Douglas the Oscar for Best Actor. It must have been a bad year for movies, Wall Street is the only movie to get a nomination for Best Actor for that year that I’ve actually watched (and I’m fairly well versed in my movies). Gekko is partially based on Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken, both of whom were convicted of insider trading. But I diverge…

The first thought that comes to mind when I hear Gekko is not insider trading. Rather, it is the obnoxious, white-collared, blue dress shirt that Douglas wears in the film.

(I tried to put a photo up, but for some reason it's not letting me. Just look him up on google. I'll try to add it again later)

Every stockbroker (hell, anyone who works on Wall Street in any capacity) will admit to owning such a shirt. This is somewhat ironic as Gekko is hardly an admirable character. Seriously, being a millionaire hardly compensates for having to serve time in prison.

And now for the tie-in. I was down in Oklahoma City one Saturday, partying (for the lone reason that Enid sucks ass) at Skyy Bar. It is the trendiest of the OKC nightclubs, which isn’t saying much. For those of you I hung out with in Davis, it seems even more fake than Sogas. I’d hardly call myself a connoisseur of nightclubs, but after hanging out at Sharky’s in Panama City, I think I know a thing or two. It’s Oklahoma, what do you expect?

We arrived at Skyy Bar just before the place started to get packed. This girl I knew from the Academy was there: she had been in the same squadron as me, but I’d never talked to her much since she was a 4 degree and I was an upperclassman. Turned out she had been stationed at Tinker AFB (as a Comm Officer, if I remember correctly). We talked for a while, and then I moved on. I had gone up to the bar to get a drink when I noticed “Gekko.” He was wearing that stupid blue shirt and had his hair slicked back, just like Douglas. What really grabbed my attention was the conversation he was having with the girl. He was whining about the beating he had taken on the market that day, but how he thought that such-and-such a stock he was selling short would more than make up for it after the company’s announcement on Monday. Remember, this is Saturday: the market was closed. I decided to intrude on the conversation since I noted his obvious bullshit.

“Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying. What bank do you work for?”
“I’m a VP at Chase.” (just so happens to be the tallest building in Oklahoma City. Really creative, jackass)
“No kidding. I bet the hit the S&P took today surprised you.”
“Yeah, I was just telling her how I took a bath on it.”
At which point I chuckle. “You know, that’s really interesting seeing as how all the stock exchanges are closed on Saturday. How full of shit are you, Gekko?”
At this point his face turned a shade of red and he tried to salvage the situation, but there was no coming back. Instead he only dug himself deeper trying to insist that being a day trader was a 24/7 job blah blah blah. He eventually fully grasped the reality of his predicament with regards to Julia, and stalked off, trying to run his “Stock Broker” game on some other unfortunate soul. After he left, I talked to her a little while longer, got her number, and then headed off to the club in the basement of the Colcord, the hotel we were staying at. Pilot 1, Pseudo Stock Broker 0.

I actually ended up getting blood all over the note (My own, thank you, but that’s another story) and it made the number kind of illegible. On second thought: Pilot 0, Pseudo Stock Broker 0. Oh well, at least he lost.

Profiling the Local Yokels Part One: New Harvest Rave Party (er I mean Church)

So this is the first post in my new series, which will consist of profiling the local Enoids. Hopefully this will convince you to never move out here and also provide some entertainment. Now, this first post is dedicated to a billboard and not a person. I see this particular billboard pretty much every day. Now, I have nothing against organized religion. I myself am a Catholic. But, if you're not, that's cool as long as you realize that you're going to burn in the eternal fires of hell for not being a true believer. Just kidding. Back to the point, I have nothing against the "World Harvest" church, I just find their advertising tactics to be hilarious. Look at this and tell me what you think:
I mean seriously, is this an advertisement for a Church or a Rave? At the very least, I think the illustrator might have been under the influence. I even find the quote on there to be slightly ambiguous since, assuming it were a rave, going to one is certainly an experience. It certainly doesn't hurt their recruiting efforts that Pastor Brad's wife, Pastor Tammy, is quite the looker. Maybe I should stop drinking on the weekends and go to World Harvest instead!!!