Crack Whores Are Friends

After more than a month's absence, a few of us took a trip to our favorite lesbian karaoke bar. Lindsay arrived at the bar as Terri and I were leaving the house, so she opted to sit in the car and wait. Normally, I'd probably make a similar move, not wishing to sit in a strange bar by myself, but in this case, given the bar's seedy location, I might make an exception and feel safer just going inside.

Indeed, when Terri and I pulled up, we parked on the street next to a run down building with three garish (is that a polite way to indicate whorish?) women sitting on a stoop. Without a word, Terri and I exchanged a glance that indicated, "Do we feel safe enough to get out of the car."

"Are they?..." Terri half-asked.

"Friends," I said pointedly, trying to keep a positive attitude. Once we were a safe distance away, I branded them prostitutes, while Terri supposed they were crack addicts. We comprised, accurately I feel, with the label of crack whores. An unkempt man on a bicycle with a beer bottle in one hand rode by us and approached/propositioned the women. We scampered faster toward Lindsay. I apologized profusely for making her wait in such a sketchy locale, but she promised she was okay.

I thought I was headed for trouble when the lecherously-proposition-me-in-the-bathroom-then-serenade-me-with-Sarah-McLachlan-and-still-don't-take-a-hint man entered the bar. Was I going to have to snub him again? Fortunately, we mutually snubbed one another, neither one of us acknowledging the other's presence.

Oh, but this time a different man hit on me at the bathroom. I was waiting in line behind him, but he allowed me to go first. When I exited, he told me I was nice, which I thought was strange since he was clearly the nice one in permitting me to use the restroom first. He also told me I was cute, which was exactly what I didn't want to hear, so I hastily thanked him and fled back to my friends.

You may be asking, as people in real life have, if this is a lesbian bar, why are you having encounters with older men? (Remember the racist lunatic?) As Terri describes the bar's proportions, "The lesbians are the cake, and the men are the frosting."

Lindsay divulged that last time we visited, one patron recommended to Peter that our friends not come there anymore because the bar is in such a sketchy area. This person only came because her girlfriend is the karaoke jockey and gets paid to come, so she insists on protecting her love. She claims that people get mugged just outside the bar. I wouldn't doubt it, but aside from the hookers, the worst I've seen is the gifting of a Drew Carey doll, and apparently arson.

So the new guy I met at the bathroom apparently gawked me the whole night; I refused to so much as glance in his direction to verify this fact, afraid of repeat shenanigans. Instead, I had a more pleasant encounter with a girl who told me she loved me (really?) and placed one hand on my butt, and one on my leg. She started asking me personal questions, like my dating status. Just when I thought she might be legitimately hitting on me, she pressed whether I was dating Lindsay, then proceeded to gush about her crush on Lindsay. So she was just using me to get to Lindsay. Heck, I got felt up in the process, so I'll take it. I promised to tell Lindsay that this woman thought she was pretty. I'm sad to report that Lindsay didn't even try to hit that.

Though it may not be the safest place we frequent, it's still a fun time. And isn't that all that matters? Sort of? They have cheap drinks, cut us some slack. Also, as we left, Terri and I caught a view of the best thing I have seen in a long time. An honest-to-gosh hooker being arrested by the police. That's so real!

Songs Lindsay sang:
ACDC = Born to Be Wild
Michael Jackson - PYT

Songs I sang:
Blues Traveler - Runaround
Criminal - Fiona Apple