I Have A Feeling I Am Not In Kansas

Last night we were out for Carin’s birthday. I met her through IronMan and she was my running mate for the ½ marathon I did last year. Until the 17 km mark where I pooped out and she kept on going like the Energizer Bunny. I wish I could say her youth was the advantage that I lacked, but as we were celebrating her 42nd birthday yesterday, I can’t.

She found a sitter for her daughter and wanted to hit the town with friends and chose the Devil’s Martini as the place for said celebration. I had never been before and have to admit that when I first arrived, dreadfully early at 10:00, I loved the place; deserted as it was. It hit me that I had not been to a straight bar for over 10 years and that, by night’s end, was THE thing I was most thankful for.

Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friend’s are straight. And I don’t love them any less for that. But not everyone loves the gays apparently. It couldn’t have been my tight t-shirt or jeans. No, many a straight counterpart had equally, if not tighter, clothes than I. Perhaps it was that I made note of that and stared a little too long. Perhaps.

Maybe it was my oversized Marilyn Monroe belt buckle. If it was, what I want to know is why these self proclaimed heterosexuals were doing looking in the general vicinity of another man’s unit anyway. Hmmmmmmmmmmm?

I also made comment to Paula that I knew I was in a straight bar as none of the men (and few of the women) had their hands above shoulder height when they danced. Apparently moving your hips, singing along to the music and waving your hands in the air are sure signs that you have a gay in your midst. I'm sorry, but when Beyonce tells you to put your "hands up... oh oh oh oh oh....." ummmmm, you kinda have too.

And then there was the pole dancing. Just in front of the DJ there is a raised platform with two poles. I am quite convinced that these are for the herds of bachelorette and/or stagette parties. No joke, I counted 7 groups of girls out for one last night of freedom. Maybe those Afghans are onto something. I mean really, who would let their wife-to-be out of the house with penis horns strapped to their head?

Back to the poles; yes, many of the would-be brides posed with one leg wrapped around the pole while her friends snapped photos. I am sure those will be a hit at the wedding. And one young man hoisted himself to the top in a display of machismo, nice arms I’ll admit, shame about the butt though. So once I spied the door open for boys, well, my pole-dancing dreams came true. After a couple jagermeister and Red Bulls, I heard my song calling…….

Can I share something with all you fella’s? If you ever want to feel like the odd man out, pole dance at the Devil’s Martini, to Britney Spear’s Circus while your friends stuff $5 bills in your pants. Fun. WOW, and I thought people were staring at my belt. Oh, and just to let you know, you’ll be needing that money, 3 shots of vodka were $23.75! I know right? I don’t know what breeders get paid, but it’s more than us. I think our carbon credit should go towards a bar tab.

Just when I thought I had had enough, the coat was on, farewell kisses distributed and we were heading for the door, the Disco set started. Well I am a Proud Mary so when I heard Ike and Tine start, IronMan became my coat rack for 15 minutes. After I was finished “rollin’ down the river”, I did a little stayin’ alive and got wet when it rained men.

End on a high note I always say. Disco over, I wrapped my coat around my shoulders and hurried out into the night. I know Papi would be disappointed, but it was 1:30 when we left. There was still a line of people waiting to get it. All I wanted was a shower (the place was awash in toonie cologne from the bathroom), a cosmo and time with my man. Oh, and Burger King.