Carol the Toothless, Crazy Dyke

So there's this crazy dyke that's showing up to the lesbian karaoke bar, perhaps even crazier than the ranting bigoted man we encountered there. I'm pretty sure her name is Cheryl, but someone else heard "Carol," so I'd rather go with that. Sing it with me: "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name -- but calls you by a different name anyway." We also have reason to believe that Carol is mainly heterosexual, but we still call her a crazy dyke anyway, because, as far as we're concerned, we're all dykes at that bar.

We first met Carol about a month ago. She stood out immediately because she's missing several teeth and acted familiar with us even though we had never seen her before; trust me, we'd remember that toothless face. We sat in our back corner and avoided contact with Carol until she came back to try to buy cigarettes from the machine, but couldn't figure it out. Seeing her struggle, I went up and just pushed the button and amazingly it worked. Carol was so full of gratitude that she gave me an uncomfortably long hug and introduced herself (as Cheryl, but whatever). When I told her my name was Kevin, she was excited because her ex-boyfriend had the same name and promised not to forget it while bumping her hips suggestively against mine. Though she eventually wandered away from our group, Carol returned throughout the night to hug, dance with, and pet (no really, she likes stroking hair) us, ultimately promising to see us again soon.

After a few week absence, Carol was back this past week. She warmly yet aggressively greeted us, then gave us an awkward serenading while singing the most awful rendition of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" you've ever heard. As she talked to us more, it became increasingly obvious that Carol wasn't just drunk crazy or fun crazy, but full-fledged insane crazy. She rambled about anything and failed to pick up on any social cues. My eyes were sore because I was rolling them too much. At one point, she pretended to talk on her "invisible phone," and took the whole thing quite seriously.

Carol was especially proud of her Jack Daniels hat that her friend gave her. She doesn't even drink Jack Daniels, she explained, but the hat is terrific, a questionable assertion, but one we agreed with anyway. All Carol needed was acknowledgment. She's the neediest person I've ever met. She needs people to pay attention to her at every second. If no one's looking, she'll call your name out to make sure you're seeing her do a dance move or make a shot at pool. We'd appease Carol, and tell her "good job," as if she were a puppy.

The dog comparisons don't end there: Carol was also barking up the wrong tree. She made some comment about being on the prowl for men. Carol, honey, a lesbian bar is not the place to accomplish that. I think it's safe to say that Carol was oblivious to the situation, however, and just seemed to take out her sexual aggression on Greg and me. When Greg stood up for a song, Carol snuck up behind him and spanked his butt. Immediately, she came to me and asked me to stand up so she could do the same to me "to be fair." I tried to find a polite way to decline, but she kept insisting. I'm not proud to say that I just gave in, stood up, and let her slap my butt, because that seemed like the only quick solution. She then sandwiched herself between Greg and I, alternated between kissing our cheeks and referred to us as her boyfriends. Seeing hilarity in action, Lindsay grabbed her camera:


Photographs proved to be just the attention Carol craved, and she didn't want the picture-taking to end. She offered to model for Lindsay, which Lindsay was happy to go along with, naturally. Carol's poses are her own, and oh so creative:


After the first photo, Carol asked to see the picture than snatched the camera out of Lindsay's hands and ran away with it. I thought this would result in a funny story about how Lindsay's camera was stolen by a crazy dyke, but instead, Carol ran around with the camera to show her modeling off to every patron in the bar, most of whom humored her. She came back and offered to pose for more, again showing them off to people she believed to be her friends.

Oh well, at least Carol believes she's "gorgeous." She asked if I thought she really looked forty-six. Not liking to lie, I thought in my head that she could have been in her fifties, before saying, "No." She hugged and thanked me, reasserting how good she looked for her age. Then she repeatedly told us how nice we were, which Lindsay pointed out was probably our problem. We were too nice and indulged her, so now she wouldn't leave us alone. Carol offered to give me her phone number, and I decided to whip out my own "invisible phone" to take down her number. This angered Carol because she wanted to use real phones in this case, but I insisted my invisible phone was good enough. According to Carol, you can't hear invisible phones ring, so she offered her home phone number instead. Though I'm not surprised she doesn't own a cellphone, I am surprised she has a home, truthfully.

After several more invasions on our personal space, we left the bar, but not before the KJ said she was going to smack Carol for being so annoying, and Bev, a truly kooky dyke in her own right, described Carol as "certifiable." Yeah, I'd agree, Carol's definitely nuts, but she sure photographs well: