Last Friday, I needed to be surrounded by gay people. A lot of gay people.
Every so often, I get these hunger pains for things. For example, I’ve had a craving for meat that I can’t even begin to describe to you. I want an animal that was killed, cut and cooked in front of me with a big baked potato right next to it. I don’t know why, I just need a slab of steak. I’m getting light headed, let’s move on.
So the other week, my hunger was for my people. I don’t think people totally realize what it’s like to go out on a Friday or Saturday night for me. Normally, the evening’s events are at a bar down the street from the University. Or downtown. Or a house party. Either which way, it is more or less a straight place. I’m usually the only gay person there, and that can get old. It’s hard to describe.
Think of it as walking into a room and being the only person with a head. No one else may realize you have a head, because they don’t have a head and don’t realize what it is like to have a head. But you DO have a head, and you realize that you’re different than everyone else in the room. You can still have fun with the headless people, but you’re still the only one with a head.
I think that covers it.
So myself, Jess on my staff and her friend Mel went out to see some gay people. Quick aside. When I ask my straight friends to go to a gay bar or club with me, I get a lot of questions. What should I wear? or What type of dancing do you do there? and Can I get in?
The answers being Whatever shows off the goods, You can only dance with the same sex, or they throw you out and Only if you promise the drag queen she can play with you for 5 minutes in the back room.
The thing that pisses me off, though, is when someone says Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want someone to think I’m gay and have to tell them I’m not. Because that would be just horrendous, wouldn’t it? Like I don’t assume the role of a straight man [involuntarily] every time we go into Chuck’s. Suck it up, Breeder. You’re dancing with the queers tonight.
So we all walk into a new gay bar that I’ve been wanting to check out. We were there for about 2 minutes before I realized it was the best place in the world. If you wanted a luke warm piece of old gay ass.
I don’t think anyone’s life is complete until you see two 50 year old lesbians slow grinding to Don’t Cha by the Pussycat Dolls all alone on the dance floor. It’s magical.
We made our exit and headed to our regular gay club, Spirits. It was more or less dead, and we considered leaving UNTIL we discovered what they were playing. Gay. Family. Fued. Apparently, 100 drunk gay people were surveyed, and the answer was always boner. Go figure.
We formed our own team, and one round later, we emerged victorious. With mugs. Which was great, because you can never have too many free mugs. As we were leaving, though, a guy came up to me, all sketchy and drunk, and said I’ll trade you for that mug.
I liked my mug. And he’s sketchy and drunk. So…no.
But he kept asking. And he kept being sketchier and sketchier about it. Like, I’ll trade you…we can make a deal…right? Hmm? all the while making weird eyebrow motions and standing way too close to me.
I finally put my foot down and said I’m sorry. I really want this mug. I’ll be having coffee in it every single morning. I’m not a random hook-er up-er, and I’m not going to turn into one for Randy McHornyson and his active brow line.
His flirty face immediately gave way to the most bitter look I’ve ever seen. Without missing a beat, he gets all huffy and says Fine. You just won’t be having any CREAM in that coffee. And he stormed off, leaving me alone with my mug and without a non-dairy creamer. So sad.
After that, we went to another club where Jess danced with a transvestite cowgirl on stage, made out with a boy who may or may not be gay, and took her place as a Go-Go Girl on a podium for a majority of the night.
Thanks, gays, for a fantastic night.