Girl, I Wanna Take You To A Gay Bar
My friend Miss Jessi got me out of my sunday pajamas (and blues) yesterday to go “terrorize gay bars” with her, and it sort of turned into an informal “girls crash Castro bars” afternoon. Which is something we’ve talked about doing for at least a year, getting dressed up and just venturing into the all-male enclaves and sort of either forcing them to tolerate us being there, or possibly having a really good time. We wanted the good time. What we got is after the jump.
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We had to start at
Daddy’s 440 Castro. I hadn’t been in since they changed the name, and everyone in the neighborhood still insists on calling it Daddy’s. In fact, the last time I went was for a Men of Hooters contest, and I had a blast; I was one of two women in the whole place, and I was in a sea of leathermen. Which normally at The Eagle is unfriendly, but not this time. Case in point: I stood in the middle of the room watching cute boys dance in Hooters shirts (and little else) when someone grabbed my ass. I jumped! I was so not expecting it. I looked at the ass-grabber and it was a leatherdaddy. I was confused; pretty sure I looked very girly. I looked at him as he walked by with a “?” on my face, and he just smiled at me and shrugged in a “it was there” kind of way. Yay!
Let’s just say that Daddy’s has changed a lot. Miss Jessi pointed me at the interior, “Go little Violet, find the trouble.” I looked. The bar was lined with Pottery Barn Upper Market fags in a way I am just not used to. No dancing, no smiling, no fun. We got a round and admired the huge berth we were being afforded by the patrons; fontunately we were soon joined by my pal qDot and a few of his miscreants. We downed our drinks and ventured to… The Edge.
It was all Miss Jessi’s idea. She looked so fabulous that guys were stopping to admire her, and we were her entourage. I was her little sidekick (she is over six feet tall and was possibly not born in the normal way but instead drawn by R. Crumb). She floated in the door at The Edge where the doorman told her how gorgeous her hair was — and then he stopped me in my tracks saying only, “ID.” I’m guessing my hair was not so fabulous. In my head, I was like, oh yeah, bitches come in all genders. But it was an appropriate welcome to the club, where we squeezed into the all-guy bar and were promptly treated so icily we joked about it afterwards. Patrons said snide things about us for us to hear as we walked by. We were told to order our drinks elsewhere down the bar. But amazingly, a bartender motioned us over — we called him Fuzzy Bunny — and he not only put all of my and Miss Jessi’s drinks on the house, but told us to come back to him later, and told us to come visit him on his other nights. The Edge, redeemed by a leather daddy known as Fuzzy Bunny.
Next, The Mix:
Which did indeed have a mix — maybe more like a 2/10 ratio of women to men, and everyone was pretty friendly. We drank, we cavorted, found a bit of trouble out front, and Miss Jessi got phone numbers from a couple of really hot guys. Nice! After this she wanted to go to The Eagle, which I always reluctantly agree to. I have had a few good times at the Eagle over the years, but also some really shitty ones having leatherfags be rude to me, not getting served and having to send guys to the bar to get me drinks, etc. I have been thrown out of the Eagle twice; once was when they felt like closing early and made a comment I can’t remember about being straight (I was with a guy). The other time was so amazing I can only relate the story: standing near the bar’s back exit to the patio, a worker got on the microphone, looked right at me and the guy I was with and said over the loudspeaker, “Get you and your archaic sexual practices the fuck outta the bar, *now*.” I remember we just looked at each other and I stupidly said, “Is he talking to us?” My friend said, “Uh, yeah.”
This time, the Eagle was strangely quiet. The bar was pretty empty and the patio was busy, but not packed. We weren’t the only women there, and it was just… mellow. Weird. Some overexcited lesbian from San Jose tried to grope and bite me, which was really not okay, and I told her so, almost making the whole drinking spree anticlimacitc. I went home and met a friend for Deadwood — tried to play the “cocksucker” drinking game and got all the way shitfaced, both of us proclaiming our willingness to have sex with almost every primary actor on the cast. Things worked out.
My whole Pride 2006 album is here.