“He put himself through school. He had a successful 12-year career in the Air Force. After the service, he landed a high profile position with an American finance company in India.
But in 2003 at age 38, Kirk Murphy took his own life.”
Would You Help This Gay Couple? | ABC News: What Would You Do?
This show is fantastic… but hard to watch!
Let’s Go Clubbing!
Nights out that were the craziest:
1. I am 18-years-old-new-to-the-gay-gay-scene-overly-concerned-about-how-I-don’t-have-shoes-to-match-anything-I’m-wearing during the summer before college. My friends and I are at the two-and-a-half star revered Crib in SF and I separate from my group to pursue new adventures on the dance floor. Little did I know that this would include some disgusting White boy’s adventurous arm traveling inside my shirt while he eagerly proclaims how hot Asian boys are. I was dumber then, but still not dumb enough to stick around.
2a. I am at Rage in West Hollywood back when they still had a stage with railing (now removed). From a short distance I view my small friend Dennis flopping fish-out-of-water like, trapped between the railing and two obese, hump-happy club goers. I pause at the spectacle for several long seconds before “promptly” swooping in to save him.
2b. I am at Rage in West Hollywood and well pre-partied. While dancing on stage I spot my Brother’s high school ex waving to me. In my deeply enamored state I jump off stage to hug and embrace her, only to find that she is very much not anyone I have ever met. She passes me to her two gay friends who I am now dancing in-between, sandwich style. After a few minutes, I say that I must find my friend. They mishear and believe that I confessed that I had a boyfriend and then let me go.
2c. I am outside of Rage in West Hollywood ready to leave after a celebratory night-out for the fact that I’ll be leaving southern California for better places. And in order to realize that my place is still very much in SoCal for the next few weeks, I witness my mid-twenties, super-small Japanese roommate waterfalling puke in front of a pizza place. Some exemplary West Hollywood gay douche bag sees it as his divine opportunity to ridicule a small woman who is in less than favorable conditions.
“Aren’t you embarrassed?” He says, smirks and repeats.
“BACK THE FUCK OFF!” My present and conscious roommates and I yell. As I begin to advance, screaming in his face, one of my roommate extends his arm to hold me back. In this moment, the man punches me in the face. After, he is immediately dragged away by his friends.
On our way back to the parking structure, I find an unopened pack of Camel Menthols directly in my path. I adventitiously scoop it up and take it as a note of good Karma.
3. Well nourished by Q Bar’s 2-for-1 extended drink special happy hour, my friend and I move to the smoking section outside and converse with three others. Two of them leave, and the friend of the woman remaining returns with four drinks in his hands, two for the two strangers that left and one for his remaining friend. He shrugs and asks us if we would like to have a couple of free drinks. While we are making awesome conversation I not so awesomely realize that the gentleman is smiling at me and checking me out with laser-vision. Our conversation goes something like:
Me: Yeah, I’m just here with friends because I’m moving to Atlanta in a month to teach elementary.
Gentleman: Oh, but we won’t even have enough time to fall in love.
After having hugged, then migrating to Badlands across the street, I critically process my dilemma. How do I tactfully and respectfully decline this gentleman’s advances while graciously thanking him for the drink and conversation? I hear a muted shattering noise blend into the club’s top 40 dance remixes and later, I spot the gentleman’s friend. I ask her what happened to her friend, and she says that he had to leave because he cut his hand on a shattered cup. Saved.
4. (Yesterday) My friend picks me up from my place two hours later because he woke up late from his nap, suffered major traffic, and went back to retrieve his wallet. We both blow over 50 bucks at Trigger in the Castro to awesomely observe multiple, superhero costume-clad gogo dancers. I tip a dollar to Wonder Woman and tell her that she looks fantastic. Also, I tell our cute bartender how cute I think he is and he thanks me while so cutely pouring extra copious amounts of vodka into our drinks.
At two a.m. we exit trigger and quickly realize that neither of us will be driving anywhere anytime soon. We make conversation with the nice men on the sidewalk and I embrace the belief that men in the Castro are handsomer, more down to earth, and friendlier than those in West Hollywood. Around three a.m., we are still sidewalk talking as two tall and very attractive men approach me. Without hesitation they begin touching me all over, asking me if I’d like to come home with them. Instantly, I recollect episodes of Law & Order SVU, and stories of bodies in tubs of ice, emptied of their organs in China and I politely and semi-regretfully decline their invitation.
My friend and I end up resting in the car (while sitting inside he pisses on the arm rest between the two seats), shivering until 5:30 a.m. when I am sober enough to drive us home.
(UPDATE) My friend, who was supposed to drive me home, believed that his drink was spiked. I’d have to agree because he had the same amount of alcohol as me, and got far more drunk, even though I’m relatively lightweight. His inference is that those two men who approached me may have been the ones who mistakenly spiked his drink instead of mine, and then tried to pick me up outside of the club. This is also possible, as I don’t remember them hesitating when they went up to me, which may suggest that they had previously planned something.
Even though we had our drinks on us, someone still could have dropped something in while we weren’t looking. Please be cautious while you’re out clubbing at night.
