Lesbian Fail; Or, Reason #18, Why I'm Sorta Gay...

I went to a gay bar last week, and while I did have a conversation that began with, "So what do you do?" and ended with "Let's exchange numbers!", it was very ungay and therefor this WFI is about my experience at the same gay bar TONIGHT.

So, we begin with my friend who shall be known as RK, because I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone what happened (even though there are about ten witnesses - more on that as the story progresses), so, we shall use made up initials.

RK and her boyfriend recently broke up. And RK is very, very upset about it. Especially because she has always thought of herself as independent and not the type to actually crave a relationship, or to be hurt by one. She is one of those girls that never, ever, ever talks about boys, and will have a boyfriend for months and not even mention him, and none of her friends even know about it. In fact, I never even knew she had a boyfriend at all! Ever! In her life! Let alone the many that were discussed over 10 beers (1 mine, 9 hers) last night.

Anyway, immediately following the breakup, RK picked up a few seasons of the L-Word and decided that she is/can/will be gay! We began discussing the show, because yes, I've seen entire seasons of the L-Word (Reason #16 maybe??). These conversations became more and more like a competition; who is gayer and who wants to prove it! Normally, this is a competition I would win sans any effort whatsoever. I have shoebox after shoebox filled with sports cards in my closet (Reason #15) so don't even try to out lesbian me. But anyway, I agreed that the next time she was in town, we would spend a night out at a gay bar making out with girls and doing some serious man hating. And yes, we were under the impression that at a gay bar, one is swarmed by members of the same sex looking for a hook up.

Well, the night had arrived. I pick up RK and we drive to the only bar I know of; the bar I ended up at the week before (perhaps I will transcribe that story another time). It's karaoke night. If anything there should be some killer people watching going on, right? No. Unfortunately there are only about twenty people in the bar. None of them are attractive, and none of them are unique/crazy/trashy enough to warrant any sort of whispering and giggling. Oh well. We assume it's early, and all the hot chicks are on their way. We drink some beers (me 1, her 3 [plus two margaritas from earlier]) and we smoke some cigarettes. We are slightly manhandled by a dude out on the patio. A totally straight dude. A complete bro who had no idea he was in a gay bar. None. After laughing at his incompetence for a moment, we brush it off and dub it a minor mishap in a our quest for gayness.

We return to the inside bar to finish our beers. As we are sitting on some stools, reading the lyrics to the amazing song** that is scrolling across the flatscreen, we are approached by another man.

Man: Hey, are you two gay?

We were completely caught off guard. RK and I had not discussed what to do if this question were asked of us. We panicked. We froze like fish sticks. We looked at each other. We shrugged, we mumbled, we asked him to define the word "gay". We eventually settled on "We're thinking about it?". Inflection included.

Man: Yeah I didn't think you were gay. I'm not gay either, I am just here with some gay friends.

Pause.

RK: Wait...why didn't you think we were gay? What isn't gay about us??
Man: You just don't look gay.
RK: What do you mean I don't look gay?? I look so gay! I'm at a gay bar! I'm wearing a tank top! It's sheer!
Me: People think I'm gay all the time! I'm even wearing a sweater tonight! [Let's be honest, I wasn't dressed any differently than usual, except I had on a sweater, and not a sweatshirt...]

RK and I quickly headed to the bathroom, where we admired ourselves in the full size mirror, before we left the bar to meet up with a friend who was in town.

Me: Well I think you look totally gay.
RK: Thank you! I like your sweater.

End Gay Bar Scene. Begin Scene With Straight Dudes In House.

We arrive at the bro house to meet up with D, a high school friend who is in from New York for a mere 36 hours. Also present, S, N, K, Ma, Mi, Dy, Da, P, and someone I think I'm forgetting but that probably isn't important. Immediately upon our arrival we ask the boys if we look gay. They don't understand the question and tell us to make out. We describe the previous events of the evening and I repeatedly point to my sweater and say, "sweater!!!!!!", as RK keeps telling them how she is so, so, so gay.

Flash forward an hour we are deciding to leave. The live reggae jams have come out, and we've had enough of the sausage fest. After all, we're lesbians, right? We go in search of D, find him sitting on a stool by himself in a room adjacent to the kitchen, and walk in to say our goodbyes. RK is in front of me and leans down to give him a hug. I notice the hug is taking a little long. Then I notice some back rubbing, followed by the words "just go for it". I remove myself from the room.

A wild, 20 minute make out session ensues. Heavy breathing, loud, loud, loud sighs, rolling on the floor, and smashing against the wall can all be heard. Clearly there was dry humping. Oh, and when I said "heard" I also meant "seen", because there is a giant window shared between the kitchen and this back room. And naturally, all in attendance stand around to watch. RK and D are oblivious to this.

RK stops the making out for a second. Did she finally notice the audience?? Oh, no, she didn't. Instead she just had something to tell D:

I don't think I'm gay.

They make out more.

D: You're bi.


Eventually Da, a huge, sweaty, red faced drunk guy that I've despised since the 8th grade, comes barreling into the kitchen. Apparently this whole time he hadn't noticed he was by himself in the living room... He tells us he thinks D went home because he hasn't seen him in a while. He makes eye contact with no one and goes galumphing into the back room where his presence immediately puts an end to any romancing (how could it not...). RK and D notice their audience, exit the room into the kitchen, RK hugs all the other boys goodbye (I think they felt cheated), and we go home.

In the car RK tells me she is so embarrassed, and even more sexual frustrated than she had been in the beginning of the night. I tell her that I cannot believe she began to sex up D while I was standing right behind her. "You were in the room?????", she asks me, astonished. I WAS IN THE FUCKING ROOM, HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS??? She profusely apologizes and finally gets the chance to check her phone for the text message I had sent her during the Great Make Out of March Dry Hump of the Century.

you are so not gay.

RK: Want to go to San Francisco's Pride?


**(youtube comments are priceless)

Shout out to my Grady lady/I don't care that you are a victim of a crime, what are you going to do for me?

Yo Colleen from work,

I'm really sorry about what happened tonight. I just feel awful for you and your loss. It really sucks. When you walked into the back room in a panic that your purse was missing, I knew it wasn't in the salon and that no one at work took it. I just knew it. I knew you had to have left it somewhere. I am really glad you listened to my suggestion of going back to Au Bon Pain. And even though you did actually leave it outside on the patio and someone took it into the women's bathroom and stole your credit card, iphone, $300 in cash and left it in the trash only to be found later by the cleaning crew, I don't think there's anything further we can do right now. You're safe. I'm safe. There weren't any stillborns cozying up to your purse in the dumpster. There's nothing for us to really worry about anymore. Except for my legs. That's right, my hairy legs.

Yeah, I am really glad to help you call to cancel your card and phone service and talk to the police. And I always enjoy being the calm and collected one in a crisis. Your thank yous are such an ego boost. I also really enjoy being right, so to find that your epitome of perfection vintage purse that I am so jealous of, albeit raped of your finer things, was actually still at ABP is kind of like a high five to my heart. And I really really like you cause you're awesome and a babe and I am glad that the only things that were stolen are replaceable. The purse itself is safe. And that's all I care about. Besides, you are a magnet for money and your iphone complete with babelicious photo of myself, although precious and loved by you and me both equally, is just a few weeks away from being able to be purchased again. You know, don't worry about it. You can take a picture of me with a new phone anytime. As tragic as tonight may seem for you, you are so blessed and rich in a lot of ways. Plus, I am probably going to buy your couch in which case, you'll be $75 wealthier.

But back to me. And the legs. The ones I was was waxing when you burst into the back room with that teary panic look you wore for the next two hours. I only got one and a half waxed. Now I gotta walk around with half a leg looking like Lohan's crotch and the other half looking like Brit's weave. I don't have time to go to the salon tomorrow, and Thursday I am working from sun up and going out until sun down. And by sun down, I mean early Friday morning. And by plans I mean working on making out with an Irish boy. So let's all be glad we're not talking about a half waxed upper lip or anything because those already slim chances would be looking Nicole Richie slim about now.

In conclusion Colleen, you owe me. I know you're making me and Elin dinner at your house on Friday, but you offered way long ago and I gave you twenty five bucks to get home, so we are not even right now. Don't think you don't owe me. And now that we're talking about it, I need my underarms done too...

Coughwax these legscough,
Meghan.