Friday, December 22, 2006

Watchout! She’s got an Adams Apple! (or Boys will be….girls?)

I’ve been to some weird places in my life, and done some weird things, (the time I walked through the secret underground tunnels of my old college, used mostly by some goofy collegiate secret societies comes to mind, as does the time I went to war, and the other time I went to war) not to mention the multitude of weird things I’ve seen, (and by that I mean: cows. Ever seen a cow up close? I mean, really seen a cow? Those things are freaky!) But I’ve never seen something like Club Chaos.

Wednesday night was my first experience with a gay/lesbian club, on “Ladies’ Night,” featuring a Burlesque Show, and all the glories entailed therein. But first let me set the scene.

Two days ago was my white cousin’s birthday. How do I have a white cousin you ask? (I’m black for those of you who couldn’t tell by my pictures) Well, it’s a long story full of mystery, intrigue, action, pathos and drama, so I’ll just give the short version: her ancestors raped my ancestors down on the plantation. Got it? Great. Going on.

Virginia, (for that is her name) and her fiancée Jessica, (which everybody calls her because her name just happens to be Jessica, what a coincidence, eh?) had family and friends out to dinner Wednesday night at a sushi joint in D.C. called Generic Sushi Restaurant, or something like that. Then, that delightful meal (consisting of numerous little edible things of varied colors and textures) was followed up with a trip to the neighborhood club for the love that dare not speak its name.

I was excited to go to a lesbian club, for the obvious reasons (hot chicks making out with each other! Yeah!) and to test out my pimp skills on various lipstick lesbians, (hey, it’s worked before.) What I hadn’t counted on was what a weird place it would turn out to be.

When I first stepped in the club I knew immediately that I would be doing no hitting on any type of women that night. Mostly because I probably would have had my nuts ripped off by some chick’s uber-manly girlfriend, but also because I couldn’t always tell who was female and who was just dressed in women’s clothes.

It became somewhat freeing to be able to go to a club and not have to worry about hitting on anybody, or being asked to dance, or being too scared to check anybody out in case in turned out that person had a penis. I could just enjoy the booze and watch everybody else having a good time. And there were some people having a really good time.

Has anybody ever noticed that super-flaming black guys are probably the best dancers around? This would explain why they always end up as back up dancers for J-Lo and Janet, or they become choreographers or runway walking consultants. I guess when you’re all over-the-top gay, (I’m not talking prison gay, I’m talking Men on Film gaaaaaay!) you can dance around anyway you want (within the limits of rhythm and the beat of the song of course) and enjoy yourself. Some guys were having a good time that night.

Another person having a good time was the post-op tranny who was obviously in love with him/herself. He/she was dancing by herself in front of a full-length mirror. And it wasn’t so much dancing as it was a stripper routine involving her humping her Members Only-style jacket while it was on the floor. I’ve never seen somebody so involved with themselves while on the dance floor. It was fun to watch, (keeping in mind that had it been a guy or a girl totally trying to seduce themselves in front of a mirror, I still would have watched. The fact that it was a combination of both just made it more interesting.)

It (and I do mean “it”) was more interesting to watch than the “burlesque show” that happened that night. The line-up of Rubenesque women undulating to Christmassy music while seductively removing items of clothes left me feeling dead inside, as if there was no such thing as beauty in the world anymore. Luckily, alcohol was there to see me through that nightmare.

All in all it was in interesting time, marred only by the fact that I might have accidentally hit on a guy while drunk, (it wasn’t my fault, it looked like a woman, I just went up to talk to her until I realized where I was and I asked point blank if I was talking to a man or a woman. After a short hesitation he said he was a dude.) but it still worked out because I gave him the confidence to go out on the dance floor and find some guy to rub his junx all up on, (that’s how I dance by the way. I find some lady and go rub my junx on her through my tight and incredibly sexy pants. It never fails me!)

So in the end, I got to celebrate my cousin’s birthday, have some nutritious food-like substances, watch people acting totally weird in public and help an androgynous person get over their fear of dancing. Do I dare go back to that gay club and see how things go on a weekend night?

I don’t think so. My recliner is just too comfortable.

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