Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Gay bar in a box

I keep thinking of going to the Stud, just because there might not be any smoke there -- the outdoor smoking area is behind the bar, and there are no windows there, and even if people smoke in the front that's still pretty far from the doorway. But then I've never made it, because -- well -- it's the Stud. I've never liked the Stud.

There's this electro club there that's once a month, but then every month on that day I just don't have the energy -- tonight's no exception, but whatever– 1:30 a.m. and I decide to go anyway. My cab is arriving and some drunk mess falls flat on his face in the middle of the street, the cab has to swerve to avoid him. I'm opening the door to get out and now three drunk messes are trying to climb in with me, one of them still has a cigarette in his hand -- wait, I need to get out first! They look at me with glazed eyes and I have to push my way through, the doorperson gives me a hug and says they just tried to get in to the club and fell flat on their faces, one after the other in a pile so I had to send them home. I'm telling the story to the woman inside who takes your money and she's loving it, I say do you want anything from me -- no, go ahead.

So I guess that's a good start, walking to the back I’m feeling the long hallway and the music's kind of interesting, very jarring pointy electro with the songs mixing against one another instead of gliding. I assess the smoke situation, taking deep breaths I think it's okay so I check my coat -- I wasn't going to check it, but since I got in free, why not live it up? Back on the dance floor, I haven't seen this many tweakers in years – old-school tweakers with plucked eyebrows and tiny clothes to match their tiny bodies and new school tweakers still skinny but gym-toned to extremity, sweating with their shirts off. It's kind of hard to imagine dancing with all of these people shaking around but not really connecting with anything, in the back there's this one guy in a trendy t-shirt with some sort of graphic design on it, moving slowly in waves he's the one I would dance with except now he's putting on his jacket and heading out. Actually everyone's heading out, the guy next to me at the bar says it's because of strip poker in the other room but then they make an announcement that it's the last drag show of the night so more people come back in but still not that many, I say is it more crowded earlier on? He says yeah, 10:30 to 12:30 it was packed. But what happens at 12:30? He's snapping all these photos, I can't really figure out why -- this is like gay bar in a box: take a bunch of tweakers and lushes, some straight-acting suburban gays in baggy jeans, tacky drag queens, waxed go-go boys, a few fags who think they're doing something indie but they look like they've just come from the mall, some high-fashion casualties leaning against the bar and a few straight women in dresses -- help!

Wait, did I mention the drag show? The music changes to something really bad with more of a rap or Detroit booty bass flavor, I guess there's kind of some lip-synching and the go-go boys up on the box stumbling around with the woman in one of those 1995 club dresses, like a tennis outfit except black, with racing stripes. Then the music gets really really bad and most people are leaving, someone looks familiar and I realize he’s some boy who replied to one of my craigslist postings, but then when I sent another picture he never got back to me. I wasn't really attracted to him -- I couldn't decide why, it was just a picture, so I said sure let's hook up. Anyway, here he is in person wearing the same backwards emo cap with one of those shirts that's black in the center and white on the arms, the indie baseball jersey or whatever -- someone's hugging him from behind and I keep smiling in his direction, just to be friendly, but when I'm outside by myself, trying to get a cab, he comes out to smoke but sees me and steps back so he's standing away, right in the doorway of the club, talking to the doorperson. I think of going up and saying hi, remember me -- you replied to my ad, and then you didn't get back to me when I sent a picture but it's not a problem -- just wanted to say hi, I'm Mattilda. But he won't meet my eyes, I’d have to turn around and walk back into the club and catch him when he's alone and all that effort for some awkward exchange doesn't quite seem worth it.

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