|
I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
|
I’m pretty used to the disapproving ‘you’re a fag hag’ looks that are thrown our way most nights at the local gay bar which are based purely on the fact that I have hair a bit too long. However, getting refused from the Polo Lounge in Glasgow because collectively we have more hair than the cast of Baywatch is just ridiculous. Four of us looked forward to Glasgow with an excitement I usually reserve for Chesney Hawkes but were so so scandalously refused entry to The Polo Lounge. How shocking. The reason being because the butch dyke bouncer immediately assumed that because not one of us had Alex Park hair, that we were straight. How annoying? More so than an alcohol fart in a hot car. She didn’t even wait for me to open my mouth before telling us that we couldn’t come in because ‘it was regulars only.’ When prodded further she explained that it was too busy so only regular gays were allowed. When asked where else we could go she rattled off a list of straight bars. How helpful. We left, extremely pissed off, before deciding that fuck her, we were going to the Polo Lounge that night. She needed to be know that she had just judged us wrongly. Triple S and I took charge and went back to speak to Diesel Dyke and had to proclaim ‘hello we are all gay’ quite profusely before she decided to finally let us in. I thought the four of us were gonna have to get down and dirty in front of her manly eyes before she’d get let us go shake our lesbo asses in a bar that’s bigger than my living room. Beefy Butch then proceeded to follow us in to the bar and observe us from the side of the bar. What she expected us to do, I don’t know. Feel up some poofs? Batter a few lesbos? Who knows. And so much for ‘too busy’. There were more staff than patrons, twice over. How rude. Needless to say, a very bad start ensured that our tudes were maximised but we did get some good gay dancing in, to some fabulous tunes before it really did get sweatier than a clammy ass crack and we couldn’t move on the dancefloor without our bum banging some poppered poof. And after wading through the toilet water and what was probably piss, to find a heavily soiled tampon on the floor of a cubicle, we decided that enough was most definitely enough. Truly and utterly vile. Where do these people come from? I’d really like to know. Overall, despite the gay bar traumas and the massive hangover vomit than followed on the journey home, we had much fun. And so I go slick my hair back with a magnitiude of cheap gel and overemphasis my already kind of manly walk to ensure there really will be no doubting my lesbo status in the future. Doubt it. Britney Wannabe 
5/23/2005 01:21:00 PM
|
Adventures of Charmin |
