Transplanted Life
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Maureen thinks she's soooooo clever
Not much to do last night, so when Maureen asks me if I'd check some places out with her, I say sure, what the heck. She wants to be able to recommend and describe places for guests with first-hand experience, but, at the same time, she believes in the buddy system, so that there's someone to help her get home if she "tests" too many Manhattans, or for strength in nunmbers should some guy who's not easily discouraged start hitting on her. It is, I've found, a solid plan. I used to joke about girls being herd animals, but not any more. Guys are bigger than us, and it takes them less time to get tipsy because of that.

I have to think about it, though. For Maureen, this sort of thing is instinctive, it's been pounded into her head practiclly since birth. Me, I'll feel like doing something, and I'll just do it, and because everyone's used to girls acting like Maureen (well, not necessarily like Maureen, but more like her than me), I get tagged with a not-quite-accurate brush. I've only come close to getting in trouble a couple of times, and it'll make me more worried than I was for a few weeks, and then I'm back to normal.

The point of all this is that I didn't find anything terribly odd about Mo asking me to come along, so I put on some black stockings (when you're not seeing anyone, there's not a whole lot of incentive to shave your legs on the weekends), changed my clothes, and headed out. It's not until we actually get inside that I realize there are no guys.

I pull Maureen aside, and ask what she's doing, and she says she's sorry, but she didn't want to come alone and she didn't think I'd be her wingman if she just asked. I sigh, tell her how peculiar the word "wingman" sounds coming from a 5'4" Christian lesbian's mouth, and say lying's not cool. I mean, if a pair of girls comes up to us, am I supposed to lead one of them on, or say sorry, I'm straight, so if you're trying to hook up, you're just wasting your time while my roommate chats up your friend?

And, besides, how's this supposed to work? You go into most bars, see two guys or two girls together, and you think they're friends looking for the same thing. In here, how are people supposed to know we're not an item?

This puzzles her, so we just try to watch our body language. Don't pull close to each, no touching, actually lean away from one another when appropriate and possible. It was kind of nerve-wracking, actually. Just going someplace to hang out, get a drink, etc., shouldn't feel like work.

It was kind of embarrassing when the first lady who approached us and asked if we were together started talking to me, and I said sorry, I'm just here to support my friend. She tried not to look disappointed, mumbled something about Maureen not being her type, and awkwardly backed away.

She did get a couple phone numbers as the night went on, though. I actually wound up talking to a pretty cool blonde for a while while her friend talked with Michelle. She said I must feel pretty weird coming to a gay bar, and I said, well, maybe, but I was a man in a past life, so being in a situation where one's trying to hook up with girls isn't a complete unknown to me. Oh, she says excitedly, you're into spirituality. Nope, I say, hard science, baby. And I lay a condensed version of the story on her, and her reaction is obviously that I'm pulling her leg, but she can't trap me in anything. By the time she and her friend head out, she's actually saying that this stuff with basis in researchable fact sounds cooler than her psuedo-science.

So, as I told Kate at the Sunday morning movie club this morning, I went to a gay bar and converted a girl. Although that would sound a whole lot better if I had a different set of genetalia.

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