Being gay is funny, sometimes. Take last night, for instance. Gina and I went to see The Drowsy Chaperone at the Ahmanson, and instead of fighting 6:30 traffic on the 101/110, we decided to take the subway. This means we had to, you know, walk around the streets of Hollywood, which is only a pain in the ass because of all of the tourists.
When we got back to Hollywood from downtown, we were waiting at the crosswalk at Hollywood and Highland. A blue Suburban, with tinted windows and music thumping its way out every nook, was waiting to turn left onto Highland. Gina and I were holding hands, as couples are wont to do. The blue Suburban was filled with a brood of young Hispanic girls, early 20s. A girl in the back rolled down the window and was yelling at us, something about taking our picture. But she was saying it in this teasing sexy voice, like, "Yeah, baby, can I take your picture?" This made her look like more of a tool than I already knew she was, so instead of responding to it, I made eye contact with her and just started at her, sympathetically.
She yelled out the window, "Yeah, girl, I'm talking to you. Uh huh."
I shook my head slowly in that way adults do when they see young punk kids. The car rolled past. I said to Gina, "What is life like for someone like that?"