Let me give you a little peek into my world for a moment. (Not that I haven’t been doing that for the past couple of years.) There’s a whole lot that goes on when it comes to being a lesbian and on top of that, not looking like one. Well, that’s sort of stereotyping in a way, but a lot of people never figure out that I’m gay upon first meeting. I don’t hold significant detection on the ‘gaydar’. Whatever. I’m just me. Sometimes I find myself in awkward moments trying to explain why I don’t find this man attractive or why I wouldn’t date so and so’s son. It happens all the time. “Oh you would be so perfect for my son! He’s 30 years old and going to law school…” yada yada fricken yada.
Picture it. Saturday night, 9pm. Amy and I walk into this gay bar a bit too early for the strobe lights to start flickering. We sit ourselves at the bar nearest to the dance floor so we can see everything. We order a beer and notice that there are only two people sitting down from us – one very masculine woman and one man. I couldn’t figure out if this man was gay or bi-sexual, but he was very attractive and didn’t appear to hold a feminine bone in his body. The best thing about this bar is, women don’t get hit on by guys, because most of them are gay. It’s a safe haven.
“Pretty cold out dare’ huh?” The man says, as he sips his huge ass cup of Long Island iced tea through a straw. The place gives you a keg cup for a mixed drink. No wonder people look so damn good after a few cocktails. (Okay so it isn’t the classiest place in New York.)
Small talk eventually led to bigger conversations and lengthy stories about jail time. Other talks involved the fact that he was straight and he goes to this bar to have a good time. Okay. Whatever. I like a mixed crowd. That never bothered me really. I told him that we liked talking to straight men, gay men - whatever their deal is. We are not manhaters. He was happy to hear this.
“A lot of gay women think straight men are disgusting.”
“My father’s straight and I don’t think he’s disgusting.” He laughs and was relieved by our welcome.
An hour passes and the bar is still sort of empty, waiting for its eleven o’clock crowd to come cruising through the doors full of gay, bi, trans, and other interesting clientele. It’s a great ‘people watching’ place. But it’s also great to mingle with different people of various backgrounds. It totally beats the normal Irish pub any given day. (However, you all know how I can’t live without my Irish pubs!)
This guy has now monopolized our entire evening. He shifted his way from his spot over to where Amy and I were sitting. He’s standing right in front of us now, blocking the view from the dance floor. He even starts flexing his muscles and asking us to touch his biceps. Come on! Get over yourself! We're here to view women if anything - we can go to a straight bar to get this type of thing.
Another lady who seemed to be more on the masculine side joins in on the conversation. I didn’t mind her even though her language was a bit crass and ‘to the point’—but she wasn’t making direct “hits”. I told her that it was Amy’s first time at a gay bar. (Amy used to live in San Fransisco…ummm…yeah I lied to make it more entertaining.) The woman whisked Amy away to dance with her. It was very amusing to see Amy being dragged out there. But the irritating part was that this gumba from the Bronx starts whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
“Yanno, if ya were into guys I’d love to hook up! You are so beautiful, ya know? You sure ya’ gay?”
“Thank you, that’s nice of you to say that. Yes, I’m gay.”
“Cause ya’ know I would love to take you out sometime.”
“Thank you, that’s sweet of you.”
END IT! That’s all I kept thinking. I started to wait for Amy impatiently to get off that damn dance floor, as this woman was wrapping around her scarf, ringing her in like a cowboy. Again, quite amusing to see Amy in this predicament. I was torn. It was either putting up with this Barbarnio or watch Amy get tied up with a tacky 1970’s scarf by a woman twice her age.
Amy comes back over to sit next to me.
“Amy, I’ll be right back. I just have to go to the bathroom.”
“Watch my drink.”
I shuffled my way through the crowd that seemed to appear out of nowhere. In order to get to the bathroom, you have to wait outside the door and deal with the roughneck women playing pool right next to you. They all look at you like a pork chop. I started to feel itchy and uncomfortable. I needed to get into this bathroom before one of these very large women approach me. They all seem so intimidating and fierce. I try not to make eye contact whatsoever. One says hello, and starts talking to me. She was this incredible large woman – had to be over 6 ft tall – but was the softest and gentlest soul ever. Never again will I judge someone by appearance. I felt safe, especially with this woman making small talk with me. It would only take one pounce by this large woman in order to get this guy away from us. I had her in mind in case of any confrontation. I hired her as my bodyguard.
I did my routine dance in the bathroom – hop, squat and kick the flusher down. Don’t touch a thing. Use paper towels in order to touch any object in there. Toilet paper was unraveled throughout the entire bathroom and mirrors were placed strategically in areas – GOD only knows why... I’ve heard horror stories of why there were tiny mirrors placed at crotch level, but I wasn’t doing anything other than my normal routine. Watch if you want. Have a thrill. I don’t care. You’ll never catch me doing the nasty in some horrific bathroom. OCD, remember? Give me a clean bed or a clean car any day.
I make my way back through the mass crowd over to where Amy and Barbarino were standing. She looked perturbed and distressed.
“Did he just give you his pitch about how beautiful you are and if you weren’t gay, yada yada yada?”
Now I’m pissed. This guy expects not only a sandwich out on the dance floor, but he also expects to have his cake and eat it as well later that night. Not happening. This guy needs to go. We’re done, thank you for the drinks and move on. There’s a nice tranny waiting in the wings for you. Hopefully, you’ll be deceived and find a very special surprise. Now shoo!
Now if you all don’t know me personally, once I break the damn (three beer limit and the bladder goes wild), I have to keep going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. Not lying.
“Come with me to the bathroom, don’t separate from me as long as this guy’s here.”
“Okay.” Amy complies with me.
We trudge through the crowd and Amy waits patiently by the door for me. It’s a one bathroom deal here. No stalls or anything like that. But first, this guy walks out of “the women’s” room and leaves me with a toilet full of diarrhea. Lovely. It was like him literally saying, “I hate lesbians! Let me shit in their bathroom to show them how much!”
Use your own damn bathroom to defecate in. Pig.
My OCD kicks in once again. Now my routine has to change a bit. So now instead of, hop, squat and kick the flusher – I had to hop, kick the flusher, clean the nastiness and then levitate instead of squat. As I’m in levitation mode, I hear Barbarino start making his pitch again outside the door where Amy was standing.
“Damn it!” I said, while trying to position myself to get the hell out of there and kick this guy’s ass! I didn’t even finish peeing I was so mad.
I come busting out of the bathroom all pissed off. Amy sees my face getting flushed.
“Listen, you’re hitting on Amy, you’re hitting on me, and you’re trying to pull some weird shit off and it’s not going to work buddy!!! We come here because we don’t want to get hit on by straight men! And yes, now I think straight guys are disgusting!”
(I said this ONLY because he believes that lesbians hate men. I did this to get him off our back! I love men and think they’re great – it’s just the people who disrespect me or a friend in order to ‘hook up’. Once we give off the vibe that says “NO”---respect it!)
So Barbarino looks at me – but a glare that said, “I’m going to kill you…I don’t know how or where, but I’m gonna wack you!” It was a scary look and one that I took seriously. He didn’t say one word but stare in anger.
I grabbed Amy and headed over to the coat check. Don’t even ask me why the hell this dump has a coat check. I was so pissed off and actually taking it out on Amy a little.
“Tip the man Amy!” I said, kidding around with a touch of wrath in my tone. I’m not sure if the man behind the coat check counter was indeed a man. I sort of felt bad over that. I began to try to calm myself down. Amy didn’t have singles and left this poor “person” (who’s now richer) a ten dollar spot. She wasn’t sure if I was kidding or raging like a lunatic at this point. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.
It doesn’t end there. We start driving off and heading back home. Now, granted there are a lot of places we could have gone to that were closer, but this place was about thirty minutes away. It starts snowing. Then it starts sleeting. Then my windshield starts freezing up and I can’t see a fricken thing.
“Damn it!!!” I said, punching the steering wheel trying to defrost my windows. Amy remains quiet and tries to tell me to pull over into the next parking lot for a while. I just wanted to get home. I continue driving slowly letting the street lamps guide the way.
Fifteen minutes pass and Deb’s bladder is screaming bloody murder. I needed a bathroom. The only bar that was opened was a rowdy ’20 something’ heavy metal joint. Great. We pull over and Amy literally takes my hand and drags me through the mass crowd full of drunk teeny-boppers dropping bottles of beer all over the place. We were sliding on the floor almost falling because there was so much beer spilled. We headed to bathroom #1.
We wait…and wait…and wait… Three girls walk out of there and there were two more inside a ONE PERSON bathroom.
“Okay, like my friend is totally sick and like throwing up in there. Try using the bathroom upstairs. Sorry!”
Amy grabs my hand again and darts her way through the baseball cap wearing crowd and practically knocks over the low-rider down to the crotch wearing little girls who were drinking pink and purple colored shots.
Amy pushes me into the bathroom and shuts the door---with her inside!
“PEE NOW!” She says, frustrated with our Saturday night adventure.
“Turn around!” I said, all kidney shy.
The funny thing was, each side of the small bathroom had mirrors. If she turned around, I still saw her face…and she still saw me trying to pop a squat.
“Come on!” I said, hoping there was a tiny spot she could plant her face in so she couldn’t see me.
“There’s a mirror on every fricken wall Deb!” So she closes her eyes…poor girl.
Am I getting too old for this crap or is the bar scene really that bad these days? Whatever happened to those fun nights out till 5 am drinking with your buddies and listening to great music having the best time? Now we have to trek over to those Irish pubs hoping for ‘the older crowd’ to come in. I used to think my sister (who’s ten years older than me) was crazy for saying, “Oh I don’t like going to bars anymore. They’re all so young.” And I thought, “Well you have to be twenty-one to get in, that’s not too young…is it?”
Now I’m starting to learn that staying home and having a few friends over for cocktails is much better. I’m making it a point to become a homebody. At least the bathroom is clean.
Someone give me the remote control and a beer please?