Sunday, July 12, 2009

I took a dyke home from a dyke bar.

When I was fifteen, a friend of mine got is license long before the rest of us. This meant the cool thing to do was jump in his car and basically drive in circles all night. These nights were spent at various fast food restaurants and random destinations. One such destination was a place called Rascal’s, a gay bar. My friend thought it would be funny. We all thought it was a horrible idea. However, he was driving so that’s where we went. We walked in, giggled, and got kicked out almost immediately. Basically a huge waste of stupid time, but when you’re a kid in a small-ish city, you have to find strange ways to occupy your time.

Since that night, I hadn’t been to any other gay bars. Until last night.

“Hey Josh, you wanna go to a dyke bar?” says a lesbian friend of mine.

“Of course I do.”

We walked in and it was exactly the way you might imagine a gay bar, even if you’ve never been to one. Loud dance music could be heard from the sidewalk, bright lights flashed, illuminating all the wonderful lesbians that filled the place.

At some point in the night we acquired the glowing plastic tube things that you might find at a roller rink. Why and how? I have no idea. “You’re at a dyke bar, don’t ask questions,” I told myself.

At one point, I decided to take a seat. I saw a woman sitting by herself so I decided to talk to her. We chatted for a while about skydiving, Washington D.C., and mountains. I was aware that I was at a gay bar, but, for some reason I thought she was straight. I guess she didn’t give off the dykey aura.

After talking to her for a while, my dyke friend rolls up and says, “Hey, are you gay?”

The girl I had been talking to you says, “Yup.”

“Cool, let’s dance.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. You’re at a dyke bar Josh. Everyone’s gay but you.

I felt like I was invading a secret society. Like I was spying. Like my team had sent me undercover so I could learn they’re secrets and take them down from the inside. That’s what it’s all about isn’t it? Gays want breeders to be gay and straight people want dykes to be straight. Right?

I’m going to take something out of context right now: I totally took a dyke home from the dyke bar last night. If you ignore the fact that this was the dyke that I’m friends with and took me there, it might sound like something special. In all actuality, I just went back to my house with a couple of friends after bar close. Not quite as cool. Still, I can say that sentence without lying.

So, I may not have a job and I may be really poor and basically useless right now, but, at least I took a dyke home from a dyke bar last night.

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