First, Some Housekeeping.
Erin, that is not what Gooey Butter Cake should look like. Parts of it tasted good - mainly the parts #3 ate as we drove south to #1's (Catherine's). The brownies I brought were well received, however, so I made up for it.
Part Two: Boobs and Pubes.
Let's establish this: Graquel (Friend #6) is black. Graq reprimands me whenever I say "African-American" instead of "black," ("It's too damn long!") so that's the term I'm using. At some point Graq mentioned her tan. Someone (not me, I wasn't paying any attention) laughed at the idea that a black woman could tan.
"I can tan! Here, look at my boobs." (This is when I began paying attention.) "Look, they're white. When I'm naked it looks like I'm wearing a white bikini." She pulled down her top and pushed her boob over her bra.
I was the girl the tan girls used as a baseline in high school, so I rushed over to compare her boob with my truly white scientific control boob. She said something about how someone on her Dad's side was white and her Mom's black, and she attributed her fair boobal skin to that.
If you are looking at the photo above, the left boob is Catherine's -- she's white, fair, red-headed. The right boob is Graq's. Of course, it is possible Catherine has some black ancestry, because when she gets drunk she sounds as street as Graquel does.
I related this later to Gary.
"Gary. It's so odd. Graq's got white boobs."
"Really? I thought black women were the same all over."
"Well, Graq says she's part black and part white."
(Hushed) "Really? She's white from the boobs down?"
So, later that evening the talk turned to pubic hair, and I wanted to know if this rogue white gene was reflected anywhere else.
"No," she said, "My pubes are just like my hair on my head."
"That long?" asked Stephanie, who then said something really outrageous about how a dreadlock -- if prepared correctly -- could be used as a convenient tampon.
"Whoa," I thought, "She went there! Would I go there? Doesn't matter; she got there first. I am outpaced!" Stephanie was hilarious.
I Am Outed
Catherine doesn't remember, but she talked a lot about her late cat Sam and got a little weepy. We all admired her new puppy Chloe. I'm trying to trace the conversation to remember how we got on the topic of whether or not I am bi-sexual. I know I did not bring it up. I think Catherine did.
"Ellen, you are bi." Catherine announced.
I immediately turned to 0.75, who is gay. She expressively turned up her hands and shrugged. "Closeted. What have I been telling you?"
"Okay! Okay!" Graquel chimed in. "So, like, if straight is 1, and gay is 5, Ellen is like 3.5."
One would think that, were I bi, during the past 35 years of ornately detailed sexual fantasies a woman would have put in an appearance.
I think this is the most useless information I have ever received, of course, because, what am I going to do about it? Explore? Experiment? If I were curious I could only hope that Gary would die at 100, and then I would be 92 and experiment with this bi-sexuality thing. I could totter on my walker to the lesbian bar and announce I was a virgin.
Actually, I am reminded of James Watt, who referred to his staff as "a black, a woman, two Jews, and a cripple." (And then resigned.) (Someone once won the Central West End Halloween contest dressed as James Watt's staff.) If I get to be the cripple, that would be our GNO.