Bad Boys, Apparently

Last night was a tragic Red Sox evening. I watched the game at the Riviera – a bar for Red Sox exiles. It was a bummer. A bust.

I was with 3 other people.

At one point, a drag queen approached us. (This is, after all, in the West Village.) He/she was tall, black, wearing a sleek blonde wig with spit curls, like Liza Minelli in Cabaret. He was wearing an off-the-shoulder black glittery flowing top. He had on thick false eyelashes and the most incredible lipstick: glittery red. It wasn’t your basic shiny lipstick, it actually spangled in the light.

He asked us if he could read our palms.

Nikki said, regretfully, “We don’t have any money.”

He said, “Oh honey, I don’t care. This is what I do.”

It is his calling, so to speak.

So what could we say? We agreed.

Now, our palm-reader, in my estimation, cheated. Because he asked for our signs before he read our palms. If you know someone is an Aries, and you believe in all that stuff, then you can go straight to the astrological stereotypes, and you probably won’t be far off.

But still. It was such an entertaining encounter. I loved this person. He had kind of a southern drawl, he would pick up one of our hands, look at the palm, and begin to speak. He did not try to sugarcoat anything.

“Your spending is out of control. Just … out. Of. CONTROL.”

Stuff like that. He gave no advice, no suggestions. Just stated stuff point-blank:

“The lover you are looking for doesn’t exist. Okay? He just doesn’t exist. You look for someone who does not exist.”

Hey, girl, tell me what you really see, and don’t spare my feelings, okay?

One of our group had literally just got done telling us that she had recently watched “Requiem for a Dream” and had been totally freaked out by it. And then she said, “Over this past weekend I saw about 5 really dark movies – it made me feel like: God, people SUCK.”

So the drag queen (who had not heard that comment) said, staring at her palm, “You have got to stop watching all of these depressing television programs.” We all BURST into laughter. Drag queen went on, “Because you have a tendency towards paranoia, sweetheart, and these programs are just making it worse.”

And as she looked at my palm: First of all, she said I would be traveling soon. Yeah, this is true. But if you know the stereotype of a Sagittarian, then you know that it is said that they must travel.

And then came the “bad boys” refrain.

Apparently, I like “bad boys”. She (it doesn’t seem right to call him a he … he was more glammed-out than I have ever been) must have said the words “bad boys” 5 or 6 times.

“You like bad boys. I see a string of bad boys here. That is your type. The bad boy. Sometimes they love you too, but they are bad boys, and they are not right for you. That is why your love line stops right here. Because of the bad boys.”

Uh … so … what you’re saying is … let me get this straight … I like bad boys?

Bad boys bad boys bad boys bad boys….

Isn’t that a goofball song from the 80s? “Bad bad bad bad boys…”

Well, regardless of WHAT she said, we all loved her. She just came right up to us and involved herself with us, and was unabashedly herself. Such a New York moment. In the middle of a Red Sox game.