Have You Seen This Woman?
Do I believe in Six Degrees of Separation? Testing, testing...1,2...testing, testing:
The night of Brooklyn Pride, Saturday, June 11th, I met a fabulous, stunning, bright and witty young lady while standing in line outside Cattyshack. She (Abby?/Abbie?) and her friend Rebecca (equally lovely) stood behind me and my crew as we held our pee & chatted it up while waiting for access to the hot, new lady spot. I could tell I liked her b/c I immediately slipped into this desperate, funny, charming car salesman rhythm thing I do when I'm nervous. To the untrained eye it's wry and clever, but to anyone who knows me well, it's a warning sign that Shannon has a live wire loose. Anyway, so we're waiting and waiting and talking and laughing and having a gay old time. I said at one point that I was longing for a Sprite, a big one, almost as tall as me. When Abby went in search of bathroom, food or drink (I'm not sure which), she brought me back a Sprite. That was it. I was completely shocked at my good fortune. Funny how life just slips us something fabulous, isn't it?
So, in the club we wander around, Abby and Rebecca doing their thing while me and my posse of non-drinkers did ours. They would check in and let us know where they were throughout the evening. At one point, when I was all a-boogie on the second floor, I asked one of my pals to go get them, the blondies as I'd dubbed them. Why didn't I just go? Umm, hmm, pussy. That's my only explanation. Total pussy. Gladly, tho, the blondies just turned up. So, there's dancing (I got completely soaked, right through my shirt and jeans, not a dry hair on my head) and more hanging out, and as the minutes pass, I get more and more awkward and lame. Being drenched in my own sweat ain't helping either. After a while, I decide I've had enough. Too much excitement for The Shan. Riding bitch on a motorcycle in the parade, copious pit and butt sweat and smart, cute girls is just too much action for me.
Fast forward...I'm giving my farewells and Abby goes to hug me and I push her off and warn her that I'm utterly sweaty. As if she couldn't tell for herself...see how smooth I am! Anyway, she says that she'd like to go to the show I had that week, and I blew her off again and told her to get the info from one of my posse. Before I left I informed a member of said posse that #1 those bitches were not to leave w/out giving us their info, and #2 if anyone hit on Abby, I would rip their breasts off.
Well, dammit, it didn't happen! They left as soon as I did, no info given, nuthin'. Grrrrrrrrrrr! Suckage!
I am ashamed to admit this: I tried Craig's List missed connections. I did. I'm not proud of it, but this whole rigorous honesty process I'm into demmands that I cop to it. And I tried a Friendster search, too, with what little information I did have. Zilch. Nada. So, I am turning to my next option: my blog. Someone's got to read this thing, right? Here's hoping.
How to Help The Shan:
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
The night of Brooklyn Pride, Saturday, June 11th, I met a fabulous, stunning, bright and witty young lady while standing in line outside Cattyshack. She (Abby?/Abbie?) and her friend Rebecca (equally lovely) stood behind me and my crew as we held our pee & chatted it up while waiting for access to the hot, new lady spot. I could tell I liked her b/c I immediately slipped into this desperate, funny, charming car salesman rhythm thing I do when I'm nervous. To the untrained eye it's wry and clever, but to anyone who knows me well, it's a warning sign that Shannon has a live wire loose. Anyway, so we're waiting and waiting and talking and laughing and having a gay old time. I said at one point that I was longing for a Sprite, a big one, almost as tall as me. When Abby went in search of bathroom, food or drink (I'm not sure which), she brought me back a Sprite. That was it. I was completely shocked at my good fortune. Funny how life just slips us something fabulous, isn't it?
So, in the club we wander around, Abby and Rebecca doing their thing while me and my posse of non-drinkers did ours. They would check in and let us know where they were throughout the evening. At one point, when I was all a-boogie on the second floor, I asked one of my pals to go get them, the blondies as I'd dubbed them. Why didn't I just go? Umm, hmm, pussy. That's my only explanation. Total pussy. Gladly, tho, the blondies just turned up. So, there's dancing (I got completely soaked, right through my shirt and jeans, not a dry hair on my head) and more hanging out, and as the minutes pass, I get more and more awkward and lame. Being drenched in my own sweat ain't helping either. After a while, I decide I've had enough. Too much excitement for The Shan. Riding bitch on a motorcycle in the parade, copious pit and butt sweat and smart, cute girls is just too much action for me.
Fast forward...I'm giving my farewells and Abby goes to hug me and I push her off and warn her that I'm utterly sweaty. As if she couldn't tell for herself...see how smooth I am! Anyway, she says that she'd like to go to the show I had that week, and I blew her off again and told her to get the info from one of my posse. Before I left I informed a member of said posse that #1 those bitches were not to leave w/out giving us their info, and #2 if anyone hit on Abby, I would rip their breasts off.
Well, dammit, it didn't happen! They left as soon as I did, no info given, nuthin'. Grrrrrrrrrrr! Suckage!
I am ashamed to admit this: I tried Craig's List missed connections. I did. I'm not proud of it, but this whole rigorous honesty process I'm into demmands that I cop to it. And I tried a Friendster search, too, with what little information I did have. Zilch. Nada. So, I am turning to my next option: my blog. Someone's got to read this thing, right? Here's hoping.
How to Help The Shan:
- Do you know a gay chick who lives in Brooklyn named ABBY? ABBIE?
- Does this Abby have a friend, Rebecca, who lives in TriBecca? ('Becca from 'becca, Ha!)
- Is this Abby from Minnesota? We're getting warmer if she is.
- Is this Abby tall with strawberry blondish/light brown hair? Warmer...
- Is this Abby funny and smart and hot?
If you have an Abby that fits this criteria, it is my pleasure to beg of you, please, please direct her to this blog! Take it to the streets, people! Help me! The only other option I have is to hang out at the Cattyshack until I hit paydirt. And I don't feel like spending my rent money on $4 Diet Cokes, you dig? Besides, I am not the barfly I once was.
ABBY, ABBY, Wherefore art thou, ABBY?
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