He had to talk the straight guys in our group into going because they were totally not digging a drag club as a site for a fun evening out. However, Poodle lured them with the temptation that there would be lots of lesbians there. "What straight man doesn't like lesbians????" He asked. They really had no argument for that, so, off we went, complete with Poodle sporting his pink, feather boa for the occasion.
For the purpose of this post, I will call this drag bar The Bashful Weiner. (I'd hate to offend any of the performers or patrons with my critique.) Having never been to a drag show before, I expected the performers to look like Bea Arthur or George Foreman in evening gowns for some reason. I could not have been more wrong.
The first performer was wearing the equivalent of a banana peel and two Band-Aids. He/She was toned and tight as a drum balancing effortlessly on five-inch heels. I was shocked. Totally shocked. Ladies, there is absolutely no excuse for us to look like shit when a MAN can make himself into that attractive of a woman.
I was surprised at how entertaining the show was with the different performers singing, dancing, and cracking jokes. One performer, however, brought us to an uncomfortable place. He/She came out onto the stage in a wheelchair. I thought, okay, so here's a disabled drag queen. Not expected, but hey, good for him/her.
He/She proceeded to flail around to the music then suddenly -- BAM! -- he/she was face down on the floor. My first reaction was, "Oh shit!" I felt sure this was an unfortunate accident for the performer. But, then he/she began to gyrate on the stage and eventually was up -- on two stocking clad, perfectly functioning legs -- dancing. I'll be honest. I really didn't know what to make of that. I was shocked, dismayed, relieved, confused.... So I ordered another drink and kept watching.
Poodle didn't lie about the lesbians. There were a shit-ton in attendance. But, he stretched it when he intimated that a straight man would enjoy observing these ladies in this habitat. By my estimation, all of them (except for perhaps one or two) looked either like Justin Beiber, complete with side-swooped hair and oversized trucker hat or lumberjacks on furlough with their wallets chained to their jeans for safekeeping.
As I was looking around, I caught the eye of a burly looking gal with a mullet who winked and gave me a nod. My first reaction was, "Oh shit!" Then, I got a little insulted because I knew I could do better if that was the side my bread was buttered on.
As the night wore on, Hubs and the other straight guy in our group had to go to the restroom. Poodle had warned them earlier in the evening to "watch their backs" if they had to go in there because things had been known to happen. One got up and said, "Hey, man, you need to go?" The other quickly stood up, stretched and said, "Yeah, man. Let's go." This was the only time in my life I have ever seen two straight men go to the bathroom together.
They returned a few minutes later, laughing and ready for more beer. Thankfully, there were no unusually friendly guys in the men's room. They were laughing at the fact that there were flowers in one of the urinals. They'd never seen that at Hooters or at a ballgame.
It was quite an enlightening night. One to check off my Bucket List -- or at least my Fuck-It List -- for sure.
