If you have been reading the blog from the beginning, you will remember that I put myself on "Gay Bar Probation" about a year ago (http://maddebelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-your-discostick.html) in an attempt to peel myself away from the arms of the adoring gay men in my life, and leap into the less fabulous arms of a straight man. I realized how ridiculous this decision was very soon after I proclaimed my probation on the internets, and have since returned (many times) to the places where fruity drinks flow freely and the dance floor is begging for me to take a boogie all up on it.
For a straight girl with bleach blonde hair and a flare for wearing animal prints, the gay bar is a haven...a safe-place, if you will. A short sparkly skirt isn't met with the googly eyes and drool-drenched faces of a man waiting to pounce on my lady bits, rather it is met with a "Heeeey Girl! You rock that! Take a spin around the room!" It's a lovely feeling to walk into a bar, not a meat market. Well, I should say it WAS a lovely feeling, until the other night...
This was me the other night. A mop of blonde hair atop my head and lips smothered in my new Chanel lipstick "CoCo".
I have been in an artistic hibernation for the past 3 months, spending every night in a dark theater telling tales and making fart jokes for money. I finally had a night off. My friend Aaron had suggested we go out for an evening of fun. I was all in! We hopped from one place to another. Seeing the sights, enjoying the smells of the city, and because I'm not a huge drinker, the beats of the dance floor at a local gay bar. I don't like to drink, but I have never met a dance floor I don't like!
Having had a tumultuous summer full of dates with boys from the wrong side of the tracks (more to come at a later date..if I can stomach it), I looked forward to an evening of dancing. I danced. And I danced. And I danced some more. Jumping from one side of the room to another, hands in the air, swinging my mop of blonde locks from side-to-side. My dancing reached a level of...shall we say...umm...huh..what's the word...insanity? Sure. It reached a level of insanity. And then...BAM! I punched some dude in the face!! Woops.
When you punch someone in the face while dancing, they should yell at you and walk away. This man did not do that. Instead he invaded my personal space with his groove thang. Still under the impression that I was in a gay bar and my lady-bits were safe, I proceeded to dance with this fellow as an apology for Mike Tyson'ing him. What happened next is....repulsive. I apologize for anything I am about to say. He...oh god...well, you see...he...uhh...well...umm...he licked my ear. It was gross. I know you are sitting there thinking..."Gross. That is disgusting."...To that I say, yes, it is disgusting, but you didn't have to have it happen to you. So I need your sympathy, not your judgement right now.
Ok, so this stranger licks my ear. I push him away and I'm all..."Excuse me? Did you just lick my ear?" He nods. "Ok, umm..ya. You can't do that again. I'm a girl..you know that, right?" to which he says..."I'm straight! You think I'm gay??" Yes, yes, yes, all sorts of yes! I think you're gay because your hair is slicked back, your shoes are pointy, and you are dancing at the gay bar! Maybe this is judgmental of me. And if it is, I'm ok with that! YOU LICKED MY EAR!
The moral of the stories, kids...your ears are never safe. Someone is always lurking around the dance floor corner waiting to stick their tongue in your ear. Watch out. Be safe. And just remember, always keep dancing! And never date a man who puts his tongue in your ear. You don't know where that tongue has been.
