A Unicorn Walks Into A Bar 

When I walk into a bar full of strangers I instantly get stage fright and begin imaging everyone wearing zoo animal snuggies. This puts me at ease, but I think it causes a strange expression to splash across my face, one that is equal parts joy and terror. Some people look cute in a panda onesie, but some look like real creeps. Imagining strangers wearing costumes is probably not the best gameplan, but I did it once, and now I won’t ever be able to stop doing it when meeting new people. Especially at a bar where the point is to possibly meet new potential people to date, then you should absolutely not be staring at them hard, imagining them in a large piece of fabric with rabbit ears.

The other night I was grabbing a drink with my girlfriend and as I sat at the end of the bar wondering if there was anyone else silently imagining the other bar patrons in mid century bathing costumes, when a beautiful boy appeared. It is so interesting to me how most everyone, including me, associates beauty with a different number of things: goodness, vanity, confidence, success, stupidity-those eyes, so beautiful, but so empty, and therefore if you see a beautiful person, you instantly cannot even imagine them wearing a ridiculous costume because you have become so humbled by them that you are afraid of them. A person with a good head of hair is still just a human but for some reason it’s harder to imagine them doing anything human like excreting feces or having a pimple.You see a boy with a snaggle tooth and hook nose and you instantly think they must be so nice and well read because good God look at that grey tooth and beak. You see a person with a perfectly symmetrical face and you instantly think they probably can’t even tie their shoes because why would they ever need to do anything else but be so beautiful?

My girlfriend’s face lit up. “Elliot!” she said giving him a hug. He smiled and returned her gesture and she turned to me, “Jenn, this is Elliot, we used to work together.” I smiled and nodded- I’m pretty sure in sync with the music playing overhead- which I hope gave off a really cool vibe. The first question I always want to ask people is “what is your dream?” with both hands clasped to my chest like a fairy Godmother, but that’s only acceptable if you are participating as a host in a beauty pageant. So I ask the socially acceptable question, the one I hate being asked more than anything else in the world, but this person was not only new, but pretty, so the stakes to appear normal were higher than usual. “What do you do Elliot?” He smiled this lopsided grin of perfect white teeth and uttered the most painful word out of any tall, beautiful man’s mouth. “I’m an actor.” I tried to not look disappointed and immediately put a halt to all the preconceived judgments that were beginning to clutter up my thoughts- acting? Self absorbed? Are you an “artist” or a “fame whore?” Are you an attention seeker with wacky intimacy issues? My dream man looks like a male underwear model but is a passionate zoo keeper who would choose the rhinos over the money, fame and respect that comes from capitalizing off your hot swimsuit body, but I’m starting to think I will never find such a thing.

“Are you an actress?” he asked. I paused, wondering how I should go about this. I could either be myself and respond “I’m a butcher,” and see what happens, or be like the girls on mainstream television and fa-lirt. Be normal for once Jenn, don’t be yourself, be a likable person, be a fa-lirty girl. Try. I smiled and flipped my hair which landed in my beer. “No,” I said coyly, removing strands of my hair from my beverage. He smiled his lopsided grin again. He was alone, dressed in a suit, and drinking a moscow mule. “What do you do?” he asked. That question is always so difficult for me to answer, because I do so many different things, and responding truthfully would be so freaky. I work many different strange jobs that always end up making me think the world is sick and twisted, I write about how I’m worried the world is sick and twisted, I hike, travel places by myself, have really kooky adventures, and read a lot of books. You just can’t pile that all on someone at first, it’s like holding a pillow over their face until they can’t breathe anymore. And if you ever find someone who you can dump all that on and they survive and still want to know you, you’ve found your other half and the search is over. An answer I’ve tested out that seems both acceptable by society’s standards and to me, is by responding with what I like to to do the most. “I write,” I told him. Just then, another beautiful man dressed in a sweater that I think my mother also owns and wears appeared. He sat next to Elliot and Elliot introduced him. “This is my brother.” My girlfriend and I sat there staring at this pair of perfectly proportioned, groomed men, who were both staring back at us with matching blue eyes and lopsided grins. Unicorns, I thought, what magical land did you two come from?

As we sat there chatting, Elliot’s perfectly swished back thick head of hair and deep green eyes kept making me think he probably always gets whatever he wants. I bet girls throw themselves at this perfect face and pair of abs, he probably never has to try at all. I recently had dinner with one of my male friends who happens to also be very attractive and he shared with me texts that girls send him. Really fa-lirty texts that read- if you want to fuck come over now. I was now looking at Elliot and wondering if his phone is also full of aggressive and alarming sexts from go-getter girls. I’ve never been able to be one of those go-getter girls, mainly because I have the soul of a Bambi prancing around alone in an open field filled with woodland creatures. Bambi’s don’t see a steed and think I want him, I’m gonna get him.They see a steed and they prance around and around him until he attempts to either murder the Bambi or kill himself somehow.

Elliot had moved and was sitting next to me, and as we were talking I resisted the urge to do all the creepy things that come so naturally to me. Things like wink, high-five, flex my tiny bicep, ask questions like “what is your spirit animal?” and reveal my horrible taste in music. I did alright because Elliot looked at his shoes before back up at me and asked, “Would you want to hang out sometime? Can I have your number?” This is when, if I had my way, I would kiss my bicep, high five him and wink. Cool beans this chiseled man wants my digits. Don’t say cool beans. Also he probably has a lot of girls digits. This ain’t no thang for him. But also you don’t know that. Stop thinking. Shoot. I sighed and gave him my phone number while goodbye my almost lover played overhead. I looked at him and wondered what a go-getter girl would do in this situation. A go-getter girl would seize this opportunity and use and abuse this pretty dummy! It’s empowering! But I just can’t live la vida loca. I want to know this pretty boy’s dreams and hopes, I believe even pretty people are multi-dimensional, not just trophies to brag about.

We walked outside and parted ways. As my phone lit up with a text from Elliot, my girlfriend was aglow. She held up her phone in my face. “Jenn, look, when you type his name into Google, this comes up!” I looked and there on the screen was Elliot wearing only a white pair of briefs, posing. “Do you think his secret passion is to be a zookeeper?” I asked her.