Twinks, Poppets and Assorted Has- Beens

I woke up this morning feeling judgmental. Perhaps it's because of the scrutiny I have been receiving these past few days? I'd like it a lot more if that scrutiny were happening in say, US magazine rather than my lameass blog but whatever.

We went out for the first time in months last night, my friends and I. The boyfriend wanted to go to a Stag and Doe, but I really was not in the mood for that and decided to do my own thing. So what do we do? We drag our asses to the tiredest old gay club in town. I suppose because we probably fit under the title of Has Been (or in my case a Never Been, since I'm not gay), that might explain why we find it tired, but honestly, I think when it's done it's done, and the new meat just simply hasn't realized how totally out of step the place is. This barbeque lost it's sizzle seasons ago.

You know how on T.V. the gay folk know all the best places to go and listen to the best new music you've never heard before (O.K. so maybe not on Will and Grace except for maybe Jack and Karen, actually they really should just suffocate Will and Grace in their sleep and take over but I digress) and wear the latest fashions or at least the craziest ones? Not happening here. This place is full of tired people (seriously, even the 19 year olds look worn and defeated) praising one another up and down through Aveda bronzer and runny eyeliner even as they fall into each other and realize they have already slept with anyone even remotely doable. The twinks are so jaded they let the 65 year old pervert who's suppose to be at the track with the boys feel their drunk little asses and buy them watery rum and cokes all for the promise of a lick and rub and the poppets stagger around in heels 2 sizes too small dreaming of performing on stage even though I've never seen one of them do a lick more than mouth the words. The sadness of lost or never achieved fabulousness and validity is so heavy in the air you could slice a chunk of it and rub it in as body lotion, but who wants to cover themselves in that? Apparently a good number of us it would seem.

I make no illusions about the fact that the minute we walked through the door we also made the same sad statement "love me please, I still count". The only difference is, we don't mean it, or at least we are aware that it is a statement that will go unadressed here. I guess it's time to find a new bar, apparently there are a few in this city. Straight bars are not an option because a. I can't stand being harrassed at them and b. The boys don't want to put up with the potential grief and c. They are even worse as far as environment and patrons and I won't even begin to get into that.

So hey, Hamilton Gay Bar that will remain unnamed but you know who you are. Did you know they have made music since Whitney and LeAnn Rimes cranked out a few hits? Did anyone tell you you are not obliged to play every dance remix ever developed around a tired old Celine Dion song? And you young boys, if you're gonna wear makeup make it count, do it up good, otherwise contrary to popular belief, you just end up looking like a weird weatherman/muppet. Seriously.

Of course, after I smoked a joint, the night got a bit better. Except I ended up ordering two hard taco supremes, a meximelt, cheesefries, and a steak fajita from Taco Bell afterwards. I couldn't even eat half of it, but I tried, oh how I tried. If it's a toss up between beauty and gorging, the gorging is going to win every time.

P.S. D, I'm jealous of those Bettie Page fridge magnets you bought. I must have them too.