Despite my being a night person, due to various necessities, I've taken to sleeping during the wee hours & getting up round the crack of dawn. I start these mornings -- as painful as it is at such a horrible hour -- by making a pot of coffee & then stepping out for a morning smoke. I would normally stay in where it's nice in warm for my cigarette, but having an asthmatic room-mate forces one to do many things one would never normally consider.
But there is a benefit to not just moving to a high altitude city & smoking outside. Each morning I come back in with the most wonderful head rush. That thin oxygen further, reduced by the wonder of tobacco, produces fantastic spinning sensations. I recommend this to all.
Now, understand -- if you've not got this already -- I'm a pretty liberal & accepting guy. I like diversity. I like it so much that if I really knew what "pride" were, I would be proud to be a freak. Oh, yes. I am a freak, happily so. But considering the majority of examples of pride in these (not-entirely-)United States sicken me, I really can't say I know what it is, let alone take actual pride in my freakdom.
So, it should surprise no one that I have lived in three American cities in which there is either a substantial or a large homosexual community. Homosexuals -- & all the sub-categories this misinformed & psychotic society has defined as "gay" -- are everywhere. Why would one of even Bush's piss-poor IQ pretend that they are any kind of minority? Get used to the fact those of us with little or no interest in the in-bred, conservative agenda are here to stay -- freaks & homosexuals alike. And some of us may just wind up marrying your daughters -- or sons (hey, some guys make pretty damn fine women).
I'm now living in what was once -- when I was growing up not far away, actually -- a very red-neck community. Sure, I was a pre-pubescent troll the last time I was in Reno Nv, but one doesn't become a freak -- just as homosexuals, we are born this way. I was aware from an early age what restriction was all about. Hell, my parents were (are, to some degree, though much tamer now) horrible bigots. If I wasn't hearing about how nasty the Oakies (those from Dust Bowl era Oklahoma, for those too young to know the term) were, it was blacks (or Negroes) this & Mexicans that. I never grasped prejudice, so I'd never had to reform my thinking.
Reno has become, by far, the most friendly & personable town I've ever lived in. If not for the fact people, complete strangers, in the street -- contrary to what Seattle would have the outsider believe of that town -- actually call out a friendly "Hello" or "Good morning", & I would never have imagined the welcome I'd received from the patrons of my new land-lord at his gay bar, the Cadillac Lounge.
From the moment Pam, my room-mate, & I had walked in, I just felt accepted for being who I am. Unlike the gay bars -- or simply drag nights in straight bars -- in San Francisco, NYC, & Seattle -- no one cared what my orientation might, or might not. be. There were free drinks, jokes, decent conversation...generally. A good time was had by all.
Then came the invitation to a monthly drag night.
The Cadillac puts on various shows during the month, but Pam & I had been invited to what they call "Campy Drag Night". OK, so it turned out to be considerably tamer than the average drag shows I'd glimpsed elsewhere, but it was a fun night -- despite the older woman who'd kept insisting I kiss her.
The highlight would have been a rather attractive trans-something (no offense -- she may actually just be a very feminine guy & trans-nothing), quite passable girl who's facial structure & voice are far more that of a woman than a man, having decided that she wanted to dance with me. I don't dance, but I certainly didn't want to be rude. So, I danced.
I suppose the situation was made more surreal than the shots of Bushmill's & Guinness alone had made it by the fact she & I were dancing to that silly Mexican (sounding?) song known to most any American often associated with the "Mexican Hat Dance" (that may be the title, but something tells me the song has little to do with real Mexican music).
In the end, I wasn't drunk enough to hit on her, or anyone. Perhaps a missed opportunity, but I think she was just having fun with one of few (or, possibly, the only) straight guy in the place -- but she was great & told me that I'd been a "...great sport".
A great sport, eh? Heh.
