Shitting Where You Eat

In the words of Becky, this clearly closeted lesbianic (and disturbing) creature I encountered last evening at Verlaine, "If you’re getting wasted on a Monday night, something must be wrong."

Actually, Becky, I had a really good day yesterday, following a weekend hostage crisis situation that involved myself, my apartment, and over 60 hours of nothing but "David-Time"! Some would say Pathetic. I say Necessary.

So, I met J.K. at Verlaine after 6 for a little bonding/psychoanalysis. I was pleasantly surprised to find my "favorite bartender in Manhattan" working his hot bod behind the bar. G. is what you call very generous to his regulars, and let’s just say Verlaine has gotten me through some (by some I mean numerous) crazy times!

Here’s the thing: G. totally wants to fuck me! Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. I totally want to fuck G., and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind it one bit…but what man in his right mind is going to risk losing the opportunity for he and a guest to get totally rocked for $16 (plus a generous tip, of course) just to be able to say, "I fucked my favorite bartender!"???? Not this one, my friend. Not this one! :-)

In its purest form, the old adage of never shitting where you eat is related to fucking (or rather abstaining from fucking) co-workers. But I think it should also be applied to other important arenas of one’s life. So I (should) find it totally irrelevant that I totally want to fuck my favorite bartender, my hairstylist, my optometrist, as well as a sizable handful of the guys I work with @ K&B.

There are some things we are not meant to partake of right now. And some of these things are never meant to come our way/go in our mouths at all. But many of these things make our lives more fulfilled and help us survive ourselves. And for that, I say thanks!

Random link of the day: (dedicated to M.D)
Love Makes You Crazy