Hooked Up

It’s been several months since my last trip to the Hook-Up, the lesbian bar, so in honor of Madeleine’s visit, we decide to go for karaoke night.  Immediately, there is some disharmony between the regulars and our large party.  “Who are these people?” someone whines, agitated by our insurgence on the bar.  Just because we’re not forty with shaved heads and wearing “I Kiss Girls” shirts doesn’t mean we don’t belong.
 
In the bathroom, a blackboard hangs for patrons to scrawl messages.  For example, in the men’s room, I learn that “Paul has a big dick.”  Meanwhile, in the women’s room, Amy encounters the intimidating message, “Twelve year olds, go home!”  Amy comes out and worries that it’s a message directed at eir.  I contemplate trying to spin it in a more positive way, but couldn’t, instead adamantly agreeing that the message is about Amy.  If anyone looks twelve in that bar, it’s Amy.  Or me: the message is just as easily about me, I suppose, a similarly young looking stranger.  The hostility is peculiar to me since I’ve only been received well here in the past. 
 
Consequently, we isolate ourselves in a corner, having a good time singing, dancing, and drinking.  A socially awkward Korean man who recently moved to California takes an immediate shining to Madeleine.  It’s perplexing how an older, single man like himself accidentally stumbles upon (the place is literally in the middle of nowhere - there are rusty nails on the street and every other building in sight is dilapidated) and stays at a lesbian bar while clearly looking to hook up – despite the promising name, straight men aren’t going to have much luck. Each time Madeleine escapes his conversations, he comes looking for Madeleine again. Elsewhere, Jessica also is lucky at love: a woman twice her age dances against her continuously. Jessica thinks the woman smells great, so she welcomes the come on entirely.
 
It takes a while to get to our first turn to sing, but when it does, it’s magical.  Madeleine and I fulfill a longstanding pact to perform “Nobody” by Keith Sweat, a raunchy R&B duet, which I have a blast singing.  The crowd roars – well, our contingency does, anyway.

Shortly thereafter, Madeleine’s Korean suitor sings a Journey tune and requests that Madeleine dance for him.  Dancing for him apparently involves standing next to him as he wraps his arm around you for the entire duration of the song.  It’s awkward but a hysterical sight to behold.  

Next, someone takes to the front to sing "Zombie." I become so excited that without any hesitation I run straight for the front, in the process ramming my chest square into the point corner of the bar. It aches crazily and leaves a giant welt, but nothing deters me from doing the zombie dance to the karaoke performance.
 
In the meantime, Amy strikes up a pleasant conversation with a regular, who turns out to be the same person who wrote the ageist hate message in the bathroom.  This person confesses the crime and apologizes profusely as Amy asserts that ey is of legal age to be at the bar. A short time later, Amy and I return to the bathroom and wait in such a long line that when the time came, we decide to enter the single occupancy at once to speed up the process. As Amy pees, I look at the board; the dismissive missive has been replaced with new prose: "I swear, your honor, she said she was 21. Jail bait tastes the sweetest." It's nice to see the hostility is erased for a nicer, if not skeezier, sentiment. I feel more comfortable about being in the place until it's my turn to pee. Being the kind gent that I am, I lift the seat and start to relieve myself. No sooner have I started does the seat come crashing down, thunking me in the penis and causing me to scream. I try to put the seat back up, only to discover that the seat is hinged so that it won't stay in the upward position. I realize that it's a women's restroom in a lesbian bar no less, but that shit is dangerous. Briefly, I contemplate the irony of losing my penis in an accident at a lesbian locale and a fit of laughter ensues. Between the giggling and screaming, I would hazard that the patrons waiting behind us assume Amy and I are having heterosexual sex in the bathroom.

While getting some fresh air outside, Madeleine is approached by another stranger who asks whether ey likes Drew Carey. When Madeleine replies affirmatively, the stranger hands over a Drew Carey doll and tries to get Madeleine to buy it. Naturally, Madeleine declines the purchase; dejected, the stranger ultimately tells Madeleine to just keep it. This incident is officially the most random thing to ever happen. You tell me the last time you've stood on a deserted street outside a lesbian bar and been gifted a foot-tall likeness of a decade-old sitcom character by a stranger. I thought so. After that, the Korean guy can't even compete.

To wrap up the night, Phoebe, Madeleine, and Erica perform Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights." For as long as I've known these people, they've been obsessed with the song and the video, particularly the phenomenally absurd dance moves. In spite of the song's direct literary connection, I've never been a fan, but I am a fan of my friends matching Kate Bush's dance erratic move for erratic move. (My favorite step comes at the 3:15 mark)

They put on a display of odd dancing complete with shrill vocals, true to Kate Bush's performance, which seems to confuse the other patrons of the bar; I'm not sure people could identify the awesomeness of what they just witnessed without being familiar with the source material.

With that, we leave for the night with a song in our heart, newfound respect, intact penises, a Drew Carey doll, and a Korean man's phone number. Success!