Where I’m living is really akin to being located at Dundas Square in Toronto, but without the square. It’s loud, with incessant car horns (this is the second official language of Israelis.) it's something that makes me want to hunt drivers down and bash them in the head. For example, stopping to make a turn waiting for an opening in traffic is almost a criminal offence.
Purim as you can imagine this place is central station for the drinking and partying cowd. This is kind of like straight pride, where everyone goes out and really gets into it everywhere. Teens and others are bussed in in large tour busses and pop-up costume stores appear all over the place.
The dogs (and Tel Aviv is the most dog loving city I’ve ever travelled to, more than Paris, New York or Toronto) are dressed up as well. I couldn’t find anything small enough for my little Chihuahua, Hildy, weighing in at 3.5 pounds. I put on her NYC black hoodie with the 42nd Subway sign on the back, and a purple and black stripped neck tie that was still a bit too big for her.
Carrying her around was like being with a super star. At one point two woman came over (as with Pride this is a huge photo op night) and started taking photos, then four more come over and started flashing, and then a few more. I’m holding her - and at this point, I’m just the accessory - while cameras where flashing all around us.
I moved on to another boulevard. When I say boulevard I mean a streets that is dvided and lined with tries. On one side is a path for bicycles and on the other side there is a pedestrian walkway; in between is grass, playgrounds, cafés. They are real public spaces. And they were packed with zombies and people in medieval costumes with spontaneous sword fights and chaos going on.
As I’m walking, a young woman, slightly hammered, comes up to see the dog. I ask if I can get a photo of Hildy with her. We never got a very good photo. Her friend, a very cute 24 year-old wants to hold her so I say sure, although I was a bit nervous because he had a lot to drink. Then he asks if I have a boyfriend. As more people come over to see the dog, he just leans over and starts making out with me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the people fleeing away who were enamoured with the dog. This was a unique and very funny moment. I’m just going with the flow.
He takes off and I continue along and I bump into him again. Once again he pulls me in and starts kissing me while I’m holding the little pooch and probably the gayest dog on earth. He gives me his number. He speaks five languages I learn, Italian, French, Spanish, Hebrew and English. The only thing i can think of is that he is a trust fund baby that’s been able to live around the world.
I did, though, text him the next day with the photo of him and the dog. He says that he remembers that he thought I was hot but couldn't remember what I looked like. I’m not surprised, I’m actually impressed that he remembered at all. I always love those special words, “You,re the last thing I remember from that night.
It was getting late, and I didn’t know where to go with this. I chickened out of pursuing him any further. Someone plastered is a different person than when they are sober. Was he just being polite? Or when I sent him my photo did he mean what he said? In any case, I didn’t need to fuck him to have a story out of it.
And that’s all I needed.