San Diego Instills Fear In Me
Seriously, I love the city ... it's beautiful here. I really want to move here. But I have no job prospects here at the moment (though nor do I have any in NYC), and I have no place to live.
However, I have one greater concern about moving here ... conformity. Those who have known me for any good length of time know that I don't really like the idea of trying to fit into a group or crowd. I just do my thing and if the group accepts me, then we're cool and I have fun. But if I have to act, dress or simply be a certain way to fit in, it takes a lot of fun out of things for me.
To be honest, being gay has challenged me in that way ever since I moved to New York. I think that gay men - moreso young gay men - are very judgmental of the looks of other gay men; the way you dress, your haircut, the amount of body hair you have, whether you exercise, etc.
I don't like that. I've always been pretty self-conscious, and so it makes it really difficult for me to go somewhere that there might be a bunch of gay guys - campus in the summer, a pride festival, etc. - who would see me and begin their overanalysis of me.
So you can imagine that, going to a drag club tonight, I was scared shitless, not of gay men in dresses - fuck that, I'm not wearing a dress, so that's all good - but of the fact that there would probably be dozens of gay men in the crowd (you'd be mistaken to believe that gay men make up even a majority of the audience at a drag show - straight women love that shit!). I wore one of my favorite pairs of jeans (my ass looks good in them), a tight blue Gap Stretch t-shirt (my arms look good in it) and flip-flops.
I think a lot of people think I'm a bit narcissistic, and it may be true that I like to look at myself a lot, but that's only to reassure me that someone else might find me attractive. If you don't think you look good, then there's no way you can believe someone else does. So, having seen my reflection in several dark windows on the way to Lips (the club), I was pretty confident that I looked good enough to present myself as a young, cute gay guy to a bunch of gay men (in or out of dresses).
I guess I was right. I was checked out by women (there were like seven bachelorette parties there!), gay men, and gay men dressed as women. I must have done something right.
So I have to explain how interesting Lips was. To start, I did a Blow Job, which anyone might say, "Oh, it's a shot ... so what?" Um ... well, since it was my first, the bartender (Mike) set up the shot on a drink tray, on top of a rocks glass, with whipped cream to resemble little balls and up the vertical stack to the actual glass ... then he hopped up on the counter so the drink was between his legs and I did my Blow Job. Note, I capitalize the drink's name so people don't think I blew the bartender five minutes after sitting down at the bar. It impressed some of the straight chicks at the bar ... I downed it nicely. ;-)
Our waitress was a girl (drag queen) named Page. The food was great and the show was awesome. I got ass bumped by a cowgirl and was pulled into an ass-grabbing by another one of the ladies (drag queens). A lot of the tension I felt was broken by the fact that, when a man dresses as a woman and starts cracking jokes about all the "bitches" in the audience, you really can't go, "Oh my God, there's a penis beneath that miniskirt." Seriously, you just forget about that. I mean, maybe it was just me ...
I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I got a picture with a hot waiter (not a drag queen), named Scott. But the fun didn't stop after the show. We went with Jasmine (Angi's friend) to F Street, a porn shop downtown, where Angi proceeded to buy $300 worth of pornography and ... other things. Good thing she was drunk ... had she been sober, she might only have spent $30. :-P
All-in-all, I am having a blast here in San Diego. But, as I said, it concerns me that I like it so much; I don't really want to leave.
In addition to the feeling that I have to conform to some sort of gay image standard (particularly here, where everyone is beautiful!), I can understand why so many people claim that Californians are "phony" or "fake." I am struck by the notion that living in California is like spending your life at one big frat party - everyone wears similar clothing, there are a billion bars lining every street, and since image is so important, you can't tell the goddamned gays from the goddamned straights. My gaydar has simply shut down.
I don't know if I have to get a California tune-up for it, or if it simply won't work out here, but I dislike not knowing who likes the cock and who simply has a good fashion sense (or a chick who goes clothes shopping for her boyfriend with her gay friends). :-P
However, I have one greater concern about moving here ... conformity. Those who have known me for any good length of time know that I don't really like the idea of trying to fit into a group or crowd. I just do my thing and if the group accepts me, then we're cool and I have fun. But if I have to act, dress or simply be a certain way to fit in, it takes a lot of fun out of things for me.
To be honest, being gay has challenged me in that way ever since I moved to New York. I think that gay men - moreso young gay men - are very judgmental of the looks of other gay men; the way you dress, your haircut, the amount of body hair you have, whether you exercise, etc.
I don't like that. I've always been pretty self-conscious, and so it makes it really difficult for me to go somewhere that there might be a bunch of gay guys - campus in the summer, a pride festival, etc. - who would see me and begin their overanalysis of me.
So you can imagine that, going to a drag club tonight, I was scared shitless, not of gay men in dresses - fuck that, I'm not wearing a dress, so that's all good - but of the fact that there would probably be dozens of gay men in the crowd (you'd be mistaken to believe that gay men make up even a majority of the audience at a drag show - straight women love that shit!). I wore one of my favorite pairs of jeans (my ass looks good in them), a tight blue Gap Stretch t-shirt (my arms look good in it) and flip-flops.
I think a lot of people think I'm a bit narcissistic, and it may be true that I like to look at myself a lot, but that's only to reassure me that someone else might find me attractive. If you don't think you look good, then there's no way you can believe someone else does. So, having seen my reflection in several dark windows on the way to Lips (the club), I was pretty confident that I looked good enough to present myself as a young, cute gay guy to a bunch of gay men (in or out of dresses).
I guess I was right. I was checked out by women (there were like seven bachelorette parties there!), gay men, and gay men dressed as women. I must have done something right.
So I have to explain how interesting Lips was. To start, I did a Blow Job, which anyone might say, "Oh, it's a shot ... so what?" Um ... well, since it was my first, the bartender (Mike) set up the shot on a drink tray, on top of a rocks glass, with whipped cream to resemble little balls and up the vertical stack to the actual glass ... then he hopped up on the counter so the drink was between his legs and I did my Blow Job. Note, I capitalize the drink's name so people don't think I blew the bartender five minutes after sitting down at the bar. It impressed some of the straight chicks at the bar ... I downed it nicely. ;-)
Our waitress was a girl (drag queen) named Page. The food was great and the show was awesome. I got ass bumped by a cowgirl and was pulled into an ass-grabbing by another one of the ladies (drag queens). A lot of the tension I felt was broken by the fact that, when a man dresses as a woman and starts cracking jokes about all the "bitches" in the audience, you really can't go, "Oh my God, there's a penis beneath that miniskirt." Seriously, you just forget about that. I mean, maybe it was just me ...
I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I got a picture with a hot waiter (not a drag queen), named Scott. But the fun didn't stop after the show. We went with Jasmine (Angi's friend) to F Street, a porn shop downtown, where Angi proceeded to buy $300 worth of pornography and ... other things. Good thing she was drunk ... had she been sober, she might only have spent $30. :-P
All-in-all, I am having a blast here in San Diego. But, as I said, it concerns me that I like it so much; I don't really want to leave.
In addition to the feeling that I have to conform to some sort of gay image standard (particularly here, where everyone is beautiful!), I can understand why so many people claim that Californians are "phony" or "fake." I am struck by the notion that living in California is like spending your life at one big frat party - everyone wears similar clothing, there are a billion bars lining every street, and since image is so important, you can't tell the goddamned gays from the goddamned straights. My gaydar has simply shut down.
I don't know if I have to get a California tune-up for it, or if it simply won't work out here, but I dislike not knowing who likes the cock and who simply has a good fashion sense (or a chick who goes clothes shopping for her boyfriend with her gay friends). :-P
posted by Dave at 5:05:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home