Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Just Another Bit for The One Woman Show I'll Never Do (Rewritten)

Those of you on my mailing list know that I have performed many times at the east village bar Mo Pitkins. As of Saturday October 20th Mo Pitkin's is no more. They've closed their doors. Shut down. Gone out of business. To say good bye to the bar I have graced with my funny so many times in the last two years I stopped by the Chicks and Giggles show. It was the last Chicks and Giggles show to be produced at Mo's. (The show moves to The Ochi lounge at Comix later this month.) My best friend Anna accompanied me. She had played a few folk shows at Mo's in the past and once or twice was a special, musical guest on the Chicks and Giggles show. The host of the show Carolyn Castiglia asked some of us girls hanging out if we would like to share anecdotes about the Chicks and Giggles show or about Mo Pitkins with the audience. I didn't really have any note worthy stories. Anna said she did. Anna said even though she isn't a comedian and just a folk singer she'd tell a story if Carolyn needed someone. Carolyn agreed to have Anna tell her story.

I'm slightly tramautized by what I heard my best friend tell a room full of strangers, but I will recount her story as best I can.

It was a Sunday night in mid May Anna was attending Faceboy's open mic upstairs. Downstairs a folk-singer boy she had been having casual sex with for the past few weeks was guest hosting "Rock Star Karaoke." Needless to say they ran into each other. Each with at least one drink riding on red blood cells on a journey to their respective livers. Here's what happened:

Yeah so we couldn't agree on whose place to go back to. He had some appointment. Which I didn't really believe, I think he was just sick of going back to my place. Whatever. I was working a day job where I had to dress business professional. Well...you know, I don't usually dress the same for an open mic run by a guy who goes by "faceboy" where people are not dissuaded from shitting on stage (as long as they have a drop cloth) as I do to a corporate, law office.

We spent probably an hour trying to negotiate where to go or if we could meet up later in the week. The more we debated the fewer people remained in the bar. Exasperated, I think he suggested the bathroom. I thought to myself, "Yeah! I'm sexually adventurous woman, and now I can prove it! Look at me, mom. I'm a New York City adult!" And to be fair I had thought about doing something like this for years, so I thought this was a great opportunity and I should seize the moment. The Mo Pitkin's bathrooms are logistically perfect for a first time public sex act. The doors leave no cap for veiwing. These single toilet stalls have thick wooden doors that travel the full length from ceiling to floor. And the doors lock.

Alright, well. My imagination is a lot hotter than reality. It was kind of gross in there. There was toilet paper strewn about and parts of the floor were wet, and there was pervasive dampness. I'm not much of skirt wearer but I wish I had been wearing one. OK. So we get to it. He lifts me up, but that doesn't really work because he can't keep me up or he can but he as to lean back, and it's awkward. I'm not big, people. I think a man over 5' 10" should be able to hold me up especially if I'm braced against the wall. Whatever, though. I mean, I'm having sex in a bathroom. I'm winning. So we stop (something that he's good at it--sorry folks that's an inside joke, right Rachael?) and I say, "Just sit on the toilet." I wouldn't learn that standing from behind is the best position for public bathroom sex until the next day when I sent an email to friends asking for advice. Sure it was gross in their but that doesn't mean I'm not committed to getting this right.


Now we're on the toilet and he says "I should fart, right now." Or something like that. He mentioned himself and the act of passing gas-- describing said act with the word fart. Which I was like, "Ohh. That's so hot. Ugh! Come on man, it's gross enough in hear any way, can we at least pretend it's not or something." I guess I should be happy if he can't imagine he's not in a bathroom when he is I guess he wasn't fantasizing about another woman when he was with me. And can I just say? If there is a place to use a condom it's the Mo Pitkin's bathroom. Anyway, maybe a minute goes by since he makes the comment and then I hear this sound reverberate out of the porcelain and bounce between the three tiled walls. Well, that was it. I lost my erection, as it were. I put myself back together and left the restroom. He was like, "What? I'm human." Barely, dude.

So people Mo Pitkins might be gone, but I'll (and now you all will) always have that memory.


Anna told me what happened after she left the bathroom. She and the fellow folk singer sat on the bench that is right outside the bathrooms. A patron came down to use one, and saw them sitting there. "Ha. That's funny. I thought you guys had come down here to have sex."

1 comment:

Myka said...

How is it that no one has commented on this post? Did everyone leave immediately after reading it to get some action of their own in Mo's sewer connection?

Also, did that event ruin the rock star karaoke guest-host for Anna, or did she continue to let him stifle her orgasms with his ass-air?