A Beautiful Night in the Gayborhood

There’s a great little area near where I live that is lovingly referred to as “The Gayborhood.” It’s much cleaner and nicer than any other alternatives. Rarely does anyone point and laugh while covertly whispering behind his or her hand, “Look at the straight girl.” The people are well dressed and groomed. The clubs are well maintained. It’s a little pricey, but you get what you pay for, right?

I met my friend Jessica and some of her old work friends for happy hour in the gayborhood around seven. I, of course, immediately proceeded to “get my drink on.” Which, for me, means I got my vodka press and sipped it through a straw. Slowly. So it took me at least two or three minutes to get through the first one. We were all cramped into a tiny booth. Wait. Table. Wait. I have no idea. It was crowded, whatever it was. Jessica’s friend Lynn was having trouble deciding whether she wanted to sit on my lap or Jessica’s, so she proceeded to put her ass on both of our laps as often as possible.

We soon tired of being cramped up in this booth-table thing, so we hopped on to another bar. It was there that I met my favorite bartender ever. This may be an exaggeration. But I was on my…fourth? Yeah, fourth vodka press. Everyone seems a lot more awesome after your fourth vodka press. I decided to switch it up a little and have a spicy bloody mary. Jessica and Patty had been drinking them all night, and while I don’t actually like them, I really really like green olives. So I went to Jennifer and said, “Jennifer, I’m going to need a spicy bloody mary. But, Jennifer, I am going to need more than my fair share of green olives.” It was no problem for her, that’s how talented she is. She gave me five green olives. Five. She put them on this sharp, black, toothpicky sort of thing and propped them up on the ice in my mug. I thanked her and walked off to find Jessica and shove my olives in her face. She likes them, too, but she never thinks to ask for extras. I ate one olive on the way. I can’t help it. They’re so good. But when I tried to prop the toothpicky thing back up on the ice, the way Jennifer had done, it fell through the ice and sunk to the bottom of my mug. I almost cried (I was drunk, remember?). I pulled myself together and fished them out in time to show Jessica.

Now Jessica was also drunk. Very drunk. Giggly schoolgirl drunk. See, Jessica doesn’t like to be touched, nor does she touch people. And she was touching people. Last time she got this drunk, she spent some time stroking a young man’s dreadlocks. I was down to my last olive by this point. As I went to fish it out of my drink once again, my drunkly inept fingers lost their grip on the damn thing and I dropped it. On the floor. I hung my head in shame and walked back to the bar to discuss this development with Jennifer. I must have looked pretty pathetic because she put four more olives on a toothpicky thing and put them in my glass. She loved me, I think. I certainly loved her.

At some point, Jessica and I decided we should have a non-alcoholic beverage. So we asked Jennifer for some soda. Jessica had hers all drunk by the time we got back to the group, so I handed her mine and went back for another. When I got back with that one, she handed me her empty glass for a trade. Again. So back I went to see Jennifer. I don’t remember how many times this happened, but I was in no condition to be running a soda marathon. I was much too drunk for that.

Then they were playing The Cupid Shuffle and Jessica was shoving me toward the dance floor. “Go do it!” I rarely turn down an opportunity to dance, so I went. To my complete surprise, Jessica was right behind me. That is a testament to her drunkenness. Jessica does not dance. She’s not the most coordinated of people. Patty joined us, too. So I’m counting beside them, “Right, two, three, four. Left, two, three, four. Kick, two, three, four. Turn, turn turn, turn.” Simple, right? They got it, and we danced our asses off. Well, no, mine is still in its place. But we worked up a bit of a sweat.

Paying my tab was quite the adventure. I just couldn’t keep a grip on the pen. It was a slippery little devil. It wasn’t me, I swear. Well, I dropped the damn thing. I bent down to pick it up, but sitting down seemed a better plan. So I sat. On the floor. Only for a second. And it wasn’t because I fell. I chose to sit. Once I got back to my feet, with the help of some kind strangers, I dropped the damn pen again. So the nice woman standing next to me said she would get it. Which was good, because I think I would have ended up sitting down again. I like to sit down when I'm drunk.

The rest of the group soon grew weary of this place, as well. I think ADD must be common among lesbians or something. I went off looking for Jessica and was rewarded by having my boobs grabbed and some drunk woman’s lips on mine (I’m pretty sure she thought I was someone else. People seem to think that all women with red hair are the same person.). It wasn’t a long kiss, and it was quite enjoyable. I’m not one to go around kissing my girlfriends for attention (I think that’s kind of disgusting), but kissing girls isn’t a bad thing. It’s totally and completely different from kissing boys. Which seems weird because we all have the same mouth configuration and we all grew up kissing one another, but it’s different. This kiss was mostly just drunk, though. Oh, and just for the record, when we get together for girls’ night, we do pillow fight in our underwear. You’re welcome.

I didn’t find Jessica. Apparently, she had gone outside to take a phone call. Once we were all together, we piled into Jamie’s car. Six of us. I had to sit on a lap. We weren’t going far. I don’t know where we ended up, but there was a Tina Turner impersonator and a dance off. I got to put a dollar down the dress of one of the competitors. She was a friend of Jamie and Patty’s. I don’t know if it was actually a competition. I was up to my sixth vodka press with a spicy bloody mary thrown in the mix. I was drunk.

There was a lot of dancing. A lot. I was busy dancing with all the lesbians. And Jessica. Who, by this point, had removed her sweatshirt to reveal her overalls and white t-shirt ensemble. She was still getting her white-girl-overbite groove on. “I’m not drunk,” she said over and over. Uh huh. Sure, Jessica, we all believe that. They played The Cupid Shuffle at this place, too, and by then Jessica was an old pro. Then The Electric Slide. I was a sweaty, dizzy, giggly, drunk mess.

After all the dancing, we were starving. We met up at Taco Cabana for some eats. The opportunities for “taco” jokes were abundant.