It was a Thursday night, with nothing to show up for tomorrow. I was freshly broken hearted, and I needed a night on the town.
A friend came over for dinner, and we recorded a podcast together. Then we went down to the local tweetup. I haven’t been to one in years. I said hello to a few people and then was so bored by all the straight people in the fancy hotel bar that I grabbed my hoodie and headed out the door. At first I tried a club that I heard some friends were at. I looked around and didn’t see them, found the bathroom, and took a shit while checking my email. Oh the wonders of a smart phone. It was early enough, so I thought maybe I’d take myself out for a movie. I checked Fandago, and everything yet to play sounded pretty shitty, so I scratched that idea.
I thought about turning on my location on OkCupid, but my phone battery was running out of juice, and it’s always the same one or two dykes I’m not interested in on the Locals app anyway. Then I realized all of the hipsters hanging out in the window of the art school gallery were there to see my friend’s boyfriend’s band, who weren’t bad. I thought what the hell and went on in. The was no cover, and I saw some friends. I stood around with all the straight hipsters and watched the crowd. The people walking by the window outside were more interesting, even though some of the hipster girls were kind of pretty. I was still surrounded by straight people.
After that, I didn’t want to go home, so I decided to try that bar I heard was still a gay bar. I don’t even drink anymore so I was a little nervous about checking out the unfamiliar scene, especially when everyone outside looked straight here too. I went inside, and almost immediately saw one of my ex’s friends, who I pretended not to see. I walked into the little bar a few more inches and all of a sudden a punk band started playing. They were pretty good. They were playing songs with titles like “I just want to be alone” and “Go fuck yourself.” It was perfect for my mood. I hung out leaning on the wall for a while, scoping out the crowd and listening to the music. Every girl I thought was hot would suddenly kiss or grab the ass of some ugly guy. I went and sat on the couch near what seemed to be the only single girl in there and watched the rest of the band play. She seemed kind of out of it and probably straight. As soon as the band ended I got the hell out of there.
I headed down the hill and saw a couple weathered older dykes outside the gay dance club. I asked if there was a cover and they said no and convinced me to go in. Someone I cancelled a date with was supposed to be in there, but I figured I don’t even know her so what’s the big deal. I walked all the way to the furthest back corner of the bar, sat down and ordered a seltzer. A sad drunk man sitting alone at the next corner of the bar came over to me because he thought I needed a pat on the shoulder. Apparently sitting there in the corner of a gay bar broken hearted and drinking seltzer I looked sad enough for the drunk man to come care about me. As soon as he left me alone, a large black woman who referred to herself as Big Mama came over and wanted to do shots. I quit drinking a decade ago and somehow this didn’t make me break my resolve. She started telling me about her diet and her vacation and how her sister wanted her to be skinnier. The whole time she was rubbing parts of her body all over my thigh because her midsection would touch me as soon as she leaned in to talk to me. She started hitting on me a little harder and I got less and less interested in what she had to say until she left. Then the drunk man came back over. By the third seltzer, I was ready to get out of there, and I felt a little better, because I didn’t have the same life or problems as these two people, and I got to watch some dykes rub up against each other a bit. I had wished the dance floor was more hopping so I could get lost in it and dance, but it wasn’t, so I took a piss and left.
Instead of heading home I walked down towards the strip of bars and wandered into a happening dance club. There wasn’t a cover anywhere! The DJ and the lights were pretty good, but all of the people were so fucking straight except for one really young butch. All the women were in sparkles and dresses and showing a lot of skin, while all the men were dressed more like me, in shirts and hoodies, and jeans. I closed my eyes and danced a bit but then I had to pee again. This should be interesting, I thought. Every single woman I passed on the way into the bathroom stall kind of whipped her head out of a drunken stupor and then settled back down when they realized I was female, except on the way out of the bathroom, as a few drunk shorter women were heading in. As I opened the women’s room door to leave one actually put her hand right on my chest. She pressed into me to turn herself around until she realized she could feel breasts through my shirt. She looked up at me and drunkenly apologized while sliding past me into the women’s room after all. I left soon after.
I was still not ready to go home, so I cruised the strip to see if any other clubs were happening, but there didn’t seem to be any more with enough people in them where I could lose myself to the dance music. Then I came up around a corner and remembered the blues club that sometimes had some hippie bands that I used to like when I was younger and stoned all the time. Sure enough a Dead cover band was playing and I got into yet another bar with no cover. They played a lot of songs I knew and I stripped off my wet hoodie and my plaid shirt and danced around in my tank top, letting my armpit hair loose among the hippies. There was even a hula hoop that I danced with all through “Eyes of the World.” During “I Know You Rider” I got into my old groove and was really spinning around with centripetal force. It felt good and familiar even though in took a while to get into because the floor was so sticky. I wanted to get high. I somehow made it through all of the other bars without drinking to drown out my broken heart. I didn’t want to end up all droopy and bitter like the man who felt sorry for me at the gay club, or all crazy and stumbling like the guy that got asked to leave the floor at the punk band. Even still all this dancing to the hippy music made me want to smoke a bowl. Incidentally, this was the last club I ever drank at over ten years ago, before I went and smoked a bunch of pot and puked all the way home. A few straight hippy dudes tried to dance with me, but I still had my oblivious-just-keep-spinning-around-in-the-groove trick going, so they were calmly deflected. Straight people again. I think if any of them had magically whisked me away to a carpeted tapestry laden candle lit room for bong hits I would have gotten, but I guess that wasn’t in the cards for me. Thank you higher power for keeping me safe I guess. And for helping me to get through the first day in a while that I haven’t cried over my ex girlfriend.
It was a more than eclectic evening out on the town. What is a broken hearted straight edge dyke to do?