"Yeah, last night was kinda a night for your blog. It didn't seem like it at the time, but in retrospect, oh god..."
-Joe, this morning
So me and my new hair were ready to hit the town when Joe got home from work and turns out, Joe had some friend dying to meet up in the Castro.
"The Castro?" I whined. "I don't want to go to the Castro. This hair and this outfit cannot be wasted on the gays."
Actually, they're probably the ones most likely to appreciate it. Joe agreed to one drink in the Castro and then promised we'd move on.
We cabbed it over to Homoville and before we could even enter Badlands, Joe grabbed my arm. "Oh my god, it's the Harvey Milk movie! We have to go!"
Half a block away, Gus Van Sant was shooting his biopic starring Sean Penn. We headed up the sidewalk, but as soon as we got close enough to scope out anything of interest, sweatshirt clad hipsters with some air of authority asked us to cross the street. We begrudgingly oblidged and joined the 20 or so nerds huddled up across the street, desperate for a glimpse of Emile Hirsch.
I kept inching closer and closer to the shoot, hoping to see Gus take a swig from his flask and yell, "Action!"
Joe was convinced Sean Penn was right in front of us. "He has different hair!"
I was convinced it was the Assistant DP.
All of a sudden, a security guard with a gherri curl came up. "You guys need to be on the sidewalk."
Ugh. "Who is that?" I asked.
"That guy standing right there in the middle of the crowd. Is that anyone famous?"
"I'm not telling."
Jesus Christ. Then gherri curl starts in with, "You have a great smile. And beautiful eyes. I like you in those glasses."
Joe is cracking up as I wonder how far I'll have to take this to get inside Sean's trailer. Finally, gherri curl confesses that everyone's waiting for Sean to arrive and Emile Hirsch and James Franco are standing right there.
But by that time, we were bored. We headed for Badlands, where the bouncer pretended to look at my ID but clearly was unconcerned about my legality. Joe knew a group of gays there and when he excused himself to go smoke a cigarette, he asked if I would be fine alone.
"Of course, Joe. I'm in a gay bar."
So Joe leaves and four gay "friends" of Joe stare awkwardly at each other before having an exclusive conversation with each other. Um, hi? Fags? I'm Beth Spotswood. Did you not get the memo? You're supposed to love me.
It was such a blatant snub, 4 men and 1 hag standing in a circle and no one's talking to the hag. So finally, as "Greg" stands 5 inches from me pretending to watch a Madonna video, I stick my face nose to nose and say, "So, what do you do?"
It was like pulling teeth.
I'm not saying every gay needs to treat me like Kathy Griffin, I'm just saying that's what I'm used to. And beyond that, if a friend abandons me for 5 minutes with people I don't know, it's customary to make the newcomer feel welcome, regardless of gender or orientation.
These gays are biggots! Hag haters! Discrimination! Someone call Margaret Cho!
I rememeber ages ago, when I was a blossoming hag and first venturing into Midnight Sun, downing my 2 for 1's with the boys, some bitchy ass queen came up to me and informed me that no one's really wild about women in gay bars and we're just taking up room and ruining the gay sex orgy he assumed would happen the minute me and the lone other over-accessorized chick left. Conveniently, I was with some bitchier ass queens who gave him a what for. But I've always been sensitive of the fact that I'm a guest in a gay bar, and thusly respectful.
Joe finally returns and saves me, and when I inform him that, "Uh, your friends suck." He responded with, "I don't even know their names."
Once Joe realized that Badlands was some slim pickin's, we found a table by the window and plotted where to go next. But not, of course, before Joe went out to have another cigarette.
So here I am at this table alone and sitting across from me at the bar is a beautifully dressed man in a suit and tie, sipping his drink alone and scanning the room. Oh yay. He'll talk to me.
He looked over and smiled.
I beamed back.
Nothing. He just sat there, looking at his drink.
He looked over again.
"Hi!" I screamed.
Nothing. He just sat there, looking at his cuff links.
What the fuck? Have I lost it? Where am I? Is today opposite day?
Joe finally returned and we gathered our things, but by this point, I was pissed. I made my way over to suit.
"Excuse me." He was suddenly delighted to see me. "The next time you see a woman sitting alone for a few minutes, it might be classy to say hello."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it too late?"
What the fuck do you think? Yes, it's too late. I grabbed Joe. "We gotta go. I just told that guy he was rude for not talking to me."
"Sweet Jesus, you're being dissed by the gays tonight."
Screw you, Castro. At least jherri curl like me.
We made our way to the W, where we tried to enter the front door at the same time as this older bearded guy. Joe held the door open for him and then rapidly excused himself to hit the bathroom. So older bearded guy, apparently sensing that starngers had been ignoring me all night, stood there and chatted with me. Apparently, he writes for Beyond Chron.
"Oh, you must know my friend Paul!"
I'm more used to seeing Paul and his cronies shove petitions in people's faces in front of Safeway rather than stand around the W, so I chatted with "Harrison" until Joe returned. Harrison was going to the upstairs bar, so Joe and I made the wise call to stay downstairs. We found two seats at the bar and began chatting with the gentleman to my right, who was having the sorbet.
Turns out, DeMonty spends 4 days a week living at the W. The rest of the week, he's in SoCal with his wife and twin daughters.
We were having a lovely chat when all of a sudden, someone taps my shoulder.
"Oh, hi Harrison."
"Turns out, all the cool kids are downstairs!"
No kidding. All night, I'd been desperate for some stranger, gay or straight, man or woman, old or young, to give me the goddamn time of day.
And for the next 45 minutes, I had Harrison from Beyond Chron...