We all agreed that the guy running the mechanical bull was pretty much a douchebag. He had a big cowboy hat and a preference for ladies in low-riding jeans. When a girl got on the bull, he made it last, laying in some jiggling action that was pretty pornographic, especially when it was two girls at once. When a man saddled up, watch out. The thing that was douchiest was when he would hold up his fingers behind the guy's back, counting down - five, four, three, two, one - before giving the bull a vicious whip and sending the rider flying.
A sign informed me "Ladies in high heels must take them off before riding the bull" so I handed my shoes to Colin and climbed barefoot into the ring. I was happy to see that it was heavily padded. I had the usual neck, lumbar, and hamstring pain and could not afford an additional injury this early on my two-kidney bucket list. I faced the bull and bowed.
It was a cute bull, nice and comfy and Ferdinand-like, with a strap to hold onto. It felt good to be up there barefoot, and since I was wearing low-riding jeans, the douchebag took it pretty easy on me. I was just getting into it, and feeling like I had been right that this was something I was going to be really good at, when I made the fatal mistake of raising one hand in the air. I had been told that this was a good thing to do on mechanical bulls, that it constituted "style points." Hubris. The moment I let go, Ferdinand bucked madly, jangling my cervical vertebrae, and I got tossed to the paddock floor. I landed in a fetal position, unscathed and mildly disappointed. My friends cheered.
It had already been a pretty long day, beginning with a carefully planned ambush of my best friend Julie on the 7 train platform at Times Square. Rita had told Julie that she was taking her to lunch somewhere, but really we were whisking her off to Spa Castle as a bachelorette. When I saw the two of them coming down the platform, I leapt out from behind a stairwell, pelting Julie with brown rice, an action she would later describe as "hostile." Her mood improved on the train ride to Queens. I don't mean to brag, but it takes chops to open a half-bottle of champagne and pour it out while concealing everything under your coat for fear of subway cops. I may not be a rodeo star, but I have my moments.
Spa Castle was magnificent. When you arrive, you are given a numbered bracelet and a colorful, androgynous uniform. You can then wander between naked, single-sex rooms and co-ed, uniform rooms. There's awesome Korean food, open-air pools with massage jets, saunas of different kinds (I chose "Jade Sauna" because it said it Purified your Kidneys and made you Selfless), an iceberg room, nap rooms, and you can pay $50 to have a Korean lady with a crushing work ethic scrub all the skin off your body. We celebrated Julie's matrimonial plans in style, rolling out of the Castle just in time to make the 7:30 curtain for Brooklyn Rider at Alice Tully Hall.
It's challenging to listen to a Phillip Glass string quartet when you've just spent five hours in a spa. I almost hallucinated at one point, but thank God I'd had some coffee before the show. This was a triumphant night for Brooklyn Rider, who bring a level of love and community to their performances that I find quite rare in classical music.
After the show, while mooching free prosecco in the lobby, Rita and Julie looked a little tired. I didn't like to impose my crazy mechanical bull scheme on them, but I was on a tight schedule. It's twenty-two days until the transplant, and I still have to play football, wrestle, possibly skydive, and read about a million books on ultra marathoning. Luckily, the gentlemen were fresh. Rita's husband Jesse loved the idea, and Julie's fiance' Colin even said that he would ride the bull, too. This was great, because now I had an opponent. I don't really like sporting activities unless I can try to beat someone. I drank a Gatorade in the subway and trashed talked Colin all the way to the bar.
As I mentioned before, the mechanical bull operator sort of had it in for the male riders. And Colin is a thin and very handsome guy who sort of looks like Bertie Wooster: an obvious target for hazing. When he sat astride the bull, the douchebag asked him where he was from.
"Kansas City," Colin said.
I don't know what that had to do with anything, because next the guy goes, "Well, we've got the song you requested." He cues the DJ and I forget exactly what song they played, but I want to say it was "Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. Whatever it was, it was clearly not something Colin had requested but was instead the most emasculating thing the douchebag could conjure as a bull riding song. The mechanical bull began to move in a languorous manner.
If the bull operator thought this would faze Colin, he had another thing coming. Like my husband, Colin has toured as a pianist with the Mark Morris Dance Group, and you don't keep that gig unless you have a certain comfort with flexible gender roles. Colin regularly entertains in a sarong. He immediately embraced the new theme of "Slow, Sensual Bull Ride."
I watched with great admiration. I had to give it to him: Colin was totally kicking my ass, with my bowing to the bull schtick and my lame attempt to one-hand it. With no regard for his dignity, he made sweet love to the bull, ballad-style. In so doing, he was really showing up the douchebag, because nothing is more macho than a man who refuses to be shamed.
"Are you here with a lady?" asked the douchebag into the microphone.
"Yes!" I yelled, pointing across the room at Julie. There was scant hope that Julie would ride the bull, though, being a professional dancer.
The douchebag, probably intentionally, misunderstood me as identifying myself as Colin's girlfriend and ordered me to get back on the bull with Colin. Had I known what would happen I might have hesitated, but I was pretty eager to redeem myself for my sub-par performance, so I took my shoes off again and leapt back up. I held onto the strap and Colin held onto me. The bull continued its slow, lascivious motions. We mugged for the crowd.
"Turn around and face him," ordered the bull operator, snickering. "For safety reasons."
You have to know Julie and Colin and me and Ethan to understand that none of this was a big deal, not even when the bull operator said that if we would make out he would give a free round of shots to the whole bar. There were a lot of people in that bar, and even though I've quit drinking in advance of the surgery, they hadn't. The Jade Sauna at Spa Castle had indeed made me selfless. After we kissed, the douchebag threw us off the bull.