"You! I want to take you to a gay bar..." (Electric Six)

("Get thee to a nunnery!" Quoth Hamlet to Ophelia.)

I tell ya, sometimes it feels that way.

Mostly, I love being single. But there are times when it sucks. Not single-dom itself, but the stigma attached. The judgement, the constant interrogation from friends and rellies, the unsolicited groping in nightclubs. After last weekend tho, I say hang the nunnery. Get thee to a gay bar! It really is a kind of nightlife Mecca for the straight girl. Allow me to tell my story...

I was nearing the end of a nine hour shift at work when the call came: a guy I work with was at home on his day off, drinking beers with mates (and I think I heard the faint strains of the Connie and Carla soundtrack in the background and male voices singing along in a kind of drunken harmony). Brad was calling to ask Ryan (straight boy, another colleague) to bring more beer when he knocked off, but I answered to phone. When Brad heard I had nothing planned for the evening he ordered that I get thee to his place and onto Diva's, a delightfully tacky gay nightspot on Commerical Rd. I obeyed. What did I have to lose?

I have other gay friends, but none quite so gay as Brad. And none of them have ever taken me to a gay bar. Brad took the responsibility seriously and, when he wasn't dancing like a pro or doing schtick in any one of the many exaggerated stage accents in his repertoire, he briefed me on where Diva's fits into the gay landscape, the fact that its drag shows are fun but sub-standard ("but nobody cares because noone's that gay", he says dismissively, referring to his mates) and gay culture in general. He was not without irony. Because I was driving, and therefore, not drinking, I was not without inhibitions (mainly of the what-to-do-with-my-limbs-on-the-dancefloor kind). But by the time the sounds of the Village People had faded into Denise Williams' Lets Hear It For The Boy (and I was done being shocked at just how cheesy the music was), I was having fun. I danced my arse off, I drooled over the perfect specimen of half-naked manhood that joined a rather unconvincing drag queen onstage. I didn't get groped or inadvertently caught in the crossfire of a macho drunken fight. I just showed up and danced. And there was no pressure, no feelings of disappointment or inadequacy, Just dancin'. And, frankly, sometimes thats all you ask of a night out.

I went home with cigarette smoke woven through my hair and these words ringing in my ears:

My baby, he don't talk sweet
He ain't got much to say
But he loves me, loves me, loves me
Oh know that he loves me anyway

And maybe he don't dress fine
But i don't really mind
'cuz every time he pulls me near
I just wanna cheer:

Let's hear it for the boy
Oh, let's give the boy a hand...