Ah, here's one now...
Greg (not his real name) and I were roommates one year in college. He was one of those guys so far out on the artsy spectrum that he wouldn't even find himself the caricature the rest of us did. He had a pair of black vinyl shorts that he would wear with white fishnets and copious amounts of makeup when he went out.
I remember hanging out in the dorm lobby one night with my ex (then-girlfriend) and a couple of guys who might be described as "young Republicans" or (more succinctly) "bigots." Greg walked by and said he was going out. "Have fun," I said. After he left, one of the guys said, "Dude, is your roommate gay?" Admittedly, Greg was going to the so-called "gay bar" in town, even though the crowd there was only about half-gay at most. It was only the gay bar by default as it was the only place that played electronic music in the days when Pearl Jam and Nirvana still ruled radio.
"No," I said. Greg wasn't gay. He just liked to dress up like that to get attention. I'm not sure they believed me right away, but a couple hours later we were still down in the lobby when he returned with a girl, a pretty good-looking one in fact who, as you might expect, was similarly dressed like a refugee from the set of The Matrix.
"We're going to be upstairs," he said. The implication was clear enough, and he and the girl (and his vinyl shorts and white fishnets) went upstairs together.
"Fuck!" one of the guys said. "Maybe I should start dressing up in pantyhose and shit."
I should probably mention that Greg also had blue hair sometime around this point. This was when Manic Panic hair dye was a staple of the looks of kids riding the crest of that trend. It also stained the fuck out of our shower when he rinsed the excess out after the initial application. Since we lived on campus, the bathrooms were maintained by the residential department's custodians, and ours was pissed that she had to clean up all this blue shit. There was little question as to who the culprit was, though Greg was never confronted on the issue. Well, not until a few months later when the tub turned orange.
As it happened, the guy in the next room over had his girlfriend over that weekend, and she had colored her hair. A few days later when the custodian cleaned the tub, she raised hell about it, and Greg had to speak to the RA. Ironically, Greg not only hadn't dyed his hair in months, he had a fair length of undeniably natural hair to attest to this fact, so he was pissed at the implication let alone an accusation that he was responsible. It was just another vindication of all Greg's reasons for hating authority.
He's living out west working as an artist. He's about as vague about his job as Chandler, but I'm guessing it's something similarly corporate. I saw a picture of him in a suit that would embarrass an earlier incarnation of him. Still, the vinyl shorts must still be working for him because he has a cute partner who has been with him for at least a couple years, but thankfully no kids.
You have got to hook me up with these Suicide Girls you keep snagging. It just isn't fair that I can't draw goth shit (on paper or in the clubs) as good as you.
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