"I'm boyfriend-free this weekend," one of the Alexes at work wrote me. "We should do something fun."
What does it say about me that as soon as you say "something fun," dancing at the gay bar is the first thing that comes to mind? It says I'm a big fat homo, is what it says. Although, to be fair, I did ask my heterosexual partner if he wanted to join us, and I guess going to a gay bar during the basketball high holy days--or whatever the HELL is going on right now that basketball is CONSTANTLY on my TV ALL the time ALWAYS--would be super gay.
"Get here at 9:30," I told Alex, who at age 28 balked at doing something so late, and honestly, what is WRONG with this nanby-pamby generation? Do a bump like girls in their 20s should. God. It worked for Stevie Nicks.
When she got here, I had on no pants, like a lesbo Donald Duck or something. Donald Dyke. "I had no idea what to wear," she said, plunking a huge bag on my bed. "I brought a wardrobe change just in case."
Jesus Christ. She is SUCH a lipstick lesbian.
The point is, we were both finally ready and I put on pants and everything and beleaguered Ned took a picture of us when really all he wanted to be doing is screaming at the TV, which is apparently part of High Holy Month.
I have no idea why it looks so red under my nose. It's like I was doing bumps and I was not. Actually, I look sort of pale and glassy, and now I'm convinced I am dying. I will miss you all. It's probably that ovarian cyst.
Oh, and before we head off to the gay bar, speaking of Ned screeching like a fishwife at the TV, I took this series of photos the other night of Lily trying to fall asleep and having her serenity disturbed by a yell from Ned.
lilee schleepeeng.
unkle ned yell. lillee disturb.
schleeepeeng.
DISTURB.
Anyway. We got there and decided the whole room was abuzz about us, which let me assure you. No room was abuzz about our white, straight selves remotely. That did not stop us from deciding that everyone must have thought we were on our first date, had not remotely done it yet, and I'd scored myself a young one. I'm a regular Meridith Baxter Birney.
"They probably think you're after my money," I said. "Boy, are YOU gonna be disappointed."
It was free body paint night, and there were two drag queens painting people, neither of which was the drag queen who saw my vagina, but that's a different story. The important part is that one of them was clearly more skilled than the other, the skilled one doing this whole tribal look on everyone, whereas the unskilled one made people look like Rio from the Duran Duran video.
"Oh, I hope I get the good one," said Alex, who until 10 minutes before had not even anticipated getting herself painted, and now it was the most crucial thing she had going on in her life, other than bagging old Meredith, over here, her Sugar Momma. I would literally be a sugar momma, because did I mention my alarming glucose levels?
When it was our turn, I was BEING POLITE and told Alex to go first, but that meant she got the Rio painter, and I got the talented one, and she could not WAIT to call me a bitch as soon as we were done.
"Yours looks great, and mine looks like some kind of money shot with this one white streak!" she said. I am so not asking her out again.
Women.
I mean, define "looks great." Although it's true you can't even tell she had ANY paint put on her, bitch still looks cute and I look like I've had some kind of psychotic break.
Speaking of psychotic, then it was time to dance. It took forever for your gays to get out on the dance floor, but as soon as anyone even remotely looked a little sway-y, we cut a rug ourselves. Then we danced. BAHAHAHAHA.
They played one song the whole crowd knew except me, because old. But now I love it. Have added to iTunes. It's 100% totally safe for work. Be sure to turn it on loud so your boss can hear.
Do you feel like maybe the breakup wasn't amicable? The whole room was singing this, and there was twerking, although not from me, thank god.
What did come from me? Dancing the pole. I know. You can't take me anywhere.
Oh, but where you CAN take me is to the bathroom. I'd had 47 cranberry and sodas and also waters with lemon to attempt to get rid of the rock that still lives inside me, and the bathroom was occupied forever. Finally, a drag queen opened the door, her girdle halfway up. "Oh, come on in, honey, I'm getting ready in here. Just pee in front of me."
So there in that tiny room, I peed in front of a drag queen pulling on her Spanx. God, I love the gay bar.
We stayed till close and I crawled into bed with fast-asleep Ned after 2:00.
You can imagine his delight when he woke up to my painted face today.
