hunters, flamboyant gay men, and a laughing Indian

I neglected to mention a few things from the other day.
My mom and I went on a short road trip to a nearby village. On the way we saw three men in camouflage walking off the shoulder of the road into the desert brush with rifles in hand. I had never until that day seen hunters in real life. It kind of blew me away, as well as created an intense fear their aim would be off and we, driving through hunting land, would be shot by accident. (intensified by the imagery of the book I just finished Invisible Monsters in which a woman's face is shot off and mutilated by a gun while she is driving her car...)

We stopped into a small cafe/espresso place to experience the one coffee shop in hours of driving circumference from my parent's home and to meet the flamboyantly gay owners. The waitress that handed us our menus I strongly believe was actually a man, or at least previously had been. "She" had long black hair and thick eyebrows, a large head, and large hands, with an atypically hipless body (for a woman.)
"She" hardly acknowledged our existence, looking out the window as she handed us our menus, not once looking at either of us.
Then after ordering our fudge pie, a tall slender man came sauntering in with black leggings, a poofy white jacket, mascara, and a beanie. He was pretty. He got himself some noodles from the back and sat down to eat, quenching his thirst with a Mountain Dew. Before seating himself he asked if we'd been helped. When he looked in my eyes I was stunned for a moment, not expecting such pretty eyes on a man.
Preparing to leave, we took our bill up to the counter where a man was seated searching recipes on a computer, skipping past Paper Planes on to a preferred song in his hip mix. He was nodding his head and upper body to the beats, seemingly oblivious to anybody else existing. I assumed he was high but obviously don't know that as a fact.
It was an interesting place. Apparently nobody working was as flamboyant as they had been when my parents stopped in months ago, when the pretty-eyes man broke into song and scooted them over to make some room for his tiny tush at their booth.


Skipping inconsequential events...

And on to today.

We just got into Santa Fe. It was a two hour drive out here. Back in a city. I've been reminded once again how much I thrive off of being in an area with people and lights. I enjoy being surrounded by life.

We put our things in the Comfort Inn hotel room and headed off to an Indian (India Indian, not Native American)restaurant I saw on three separate pamphlet slots in the lobby. We sat down, decided what we wanted, and took our order. As we completed explaining what we desired to eat, the man taking the order looked at me and asked "mango dksndflksdlf!? hahahaha." I said "oh...hahaha, no thanks. :)" I assumed he was suggesting I order a mango drink, and I didn't really want one, but was charmed by his smile so smiled back while rejecting the suggestion.
I told stories of festivals in a village in China as we waited for our food. Then a man stepped in with a gorgeous fur coat on. I couldn't describe it to my parents who hadn't seen it. It was soooo...gorgeous. It was thick and long, reaching to the floor. It looked like leopard or siberian tiger. Something exotic and endangered. He had large gauged earplugs, a shaved head, and a nose ring with a chain draped across his cheek, the other end attaching to an ear piercing. (early Janet Jackson style.) When he walked past my parents understood why I hadn't been able to describe the man.
He was beautiful, but as we all noted, the girl he was with was drab in comparison. I expected an equally stunning individual to be eating with him. Apparently, as he sat down he took off his jacket, leaving him only wearing an undershirt, which my parents referred to as "underwear."
When another waiter was asking us if we'd like dessert, the man who took our orders came over again and said something in Hindu to the other man and laughed. He was saying something about or in regardsto me. My parents and I laughed and my dad urged the other man to translate. He said mango somethingorother. Again with the mangoes?
Then I was given a dish of mango pudding, which was delicious.
As I ate it, the mango man came by, looked at me eating and laughed.
I felt undeservedly privileged and self-conscious.
The mango man came back to give us our bill, purposefully putting it directly in front of me.
We paid then got up to leave. We thanked the mango man on the way out. On my way towards him he had a smirk on his face, appearing as though he was struggling to contain himself and immediately after I thanked him he burst out in laughter.

I have no clue why he found me so funny, but it was contagious. We all laughed as we left the restaurant, walking out into a light snow fall.


....huh?