Today, he changed his Facebook profile picture to this:
Like I ever look that beautiful. If I tried to do that kind of makeup? I would (and have *cough*) wind up looking like a hooker. Also? If I ever tried to wear earrings that big, I'd end up getting one of them caught in an escalator and plummeting to my certain death...probably at Nordstrom's.
Still...it's pretty flattering that anyone would think a creature that beautiful looked like me.
Also? It was final proof - much to my chagrin - that I am not, in fact, adopted. *sigh*
So, I told JR Bubba Face that, the next time we see each other, he is going to have to dress me up in drag (Please! Like I know how to be a lovely lady! That would require...shaving!) and then we could go out together and be twinsies. Never mind that he's 6'6" barefoot and all muscle and I'm 5'7" (in the right shoes) and all squishy. TWINSIES, I say! Dammit. Just agree with me.
And then I was reminded of a story, a memory, an experience.
I was 21 and new to the bar/club scene. Most of my friends, at the time, were gay men of my same age - Brad, Chad, Franklyn, (Right, Said) Fred - and so most of my time was spent at the gay bars and dance clubs of Denver back in the day - The Metro, Trax, The Foxhole, Charlie's...
Charlie's is an institution in Denver. It's a gay country western bar on Colfax Ave and it is FAB-U-LOUS! *snap snap snap*
I love going to Charlie's! Seriously. You have not seen two-steppin' until you've seen two cowboys buckle shining (which means that, instead of facing one another, the two dance partners face the same direction, the hind partner, in essence, getting his buckle shined on the ass of his partner...I guess you'd have to grow up 'round these here parts). You've not seen line dancing until you've seen all lines full of glorious, glistening men...who aren't interested, one bit, in my bits.
So...one night, I'm at Charlie's with Chad. I'm young, naive, still girly (my proclivity for comfy pants not yet evolved) and I really really REALLY have to pee. I finally give in to bodily function and enter the restroom marked "WOMEN".
It. Was. Disgusting.
Seriously. Every stall's toilet seat was defiled with pee and two toilets were beyond defiled with...other stuff. I couldn't make myself...just...no, because no.
I hustled it back out to Chad. I was desperate. And he told me in that well-duh sort of voice, "Use the men's room, Silly!"
Off to the men's room I went (clearly, the Midori sours had caught up with me and I had to pee really really bad).
I was trying to be nonchalant about being a woman in the men's room. However, no one seemed to notice or care. Lucky that because, for the first (and potentially last) time in my life, there was a line for the stalls.
I got in line.
And then? Then I noticed there were no doors on the stalls.
I can't pee out in the open in the mens' room!!! I'm already breaking every social law, like, ever just being in here! Right?
There was a young man - likely around my age - with the loveliest waxed eyebrows just behind me. I turned and commented to him that I was a little distressed by the lack of doors. "How am I supposed to pee without a door?!" I asked him.
And he said...
"Oh! Honey! I'll get your back! We queens have GOT to stick together! Right?"