the Estonians make great cocktails

So Randy and I went to see a new play last night, which was pretty good. After the show we headed over to Georgie's, a nice gay bar that is a bit off the beaten path and wow--was it hopping for a Tuesday night. The place was absolutely packed with men, men, men. Randy and I have the same taste in men so we huddled close on our bar stools and giggled and he leaned over and asked: "What about that one--would you?" "Oh, yes, honey, he is gorgeous," I would whisper back. We sat next to a striking blond in spike rhinestone heels, lovely cocktail dress and Barbra Streisand wig. No one was talking to her or even paying attention to her. I could not take my eyes off her shoes, so finally, I had to ask her and so I said: "I just love your shoes, where did you get them?" and she lit up like a Christmas tree and went on a long babbling explanation of where she buys her shoes and bags (Ross and T.J. Maxx) and sighed about how expensive it is to try and keep yourself up. It ain't easy or cheap trying to be a pretty girl. Then she told me that she is a straight man, married with two grown children. She/he just enjoys dressing as a woman and going out once in a while. She looked great. When she finally tottered out around midnight Randy said that I had probably made her day by girl-talking with her and telling her she looked pretty. Well, she did.

After "Barbra" left another cutie showed up at the end of the bar and as Indrik, the adorable Estonian bartender mixed the newcomer's drink, I nudged Randy and pointed Cutie out. "Oh, no," Randy said, "He knows he's cute. Forget it." But Cutie made his way through the sea of dancing queens and sat on the barstool next to me. He finally leaned over and asked me if I had had a chemical peel. That's the most original opener I have ever heard so I bit and told him no. Then he wanted to know if he could touch my face because he thought my skin was lovely. Okay, no problem, touch me. He asked me what I use on my face and I told him (Never, ever, ever leave the house without sunscreen on your face--that is the extent of my secret). I noticed that Randy was leaning in closely trying to hear (breathing down my neck) and so I introduced them and excused myself to go to the ladies room. When I returned, the two were sitting side by side and having an animated conversation about monogamy and how men are wired genetically to want to have sex with anything and everything 24-7 and how Randy cannot except that he cannot find a partner who will be faithful. He is holding out for a one-man man. He and Cutie debated the whole "gay men are whores" issue for about an hour while I watched the '80s disco videos that were projected on a a huge paneled screen that covered the entire wall of the dance floor. Favorite blast from the past videos: Kim Carnes singing: "Betty Davis Eyes" and of course, Gloria Gaynor and Donna Summer and a mix of numbers from Rocky Horror: "come up to the lab and see what's on the slab."

A crushingly handsome guy named Jeremy sat down next to me and told me his name and kissed my hand then launched into an explanation about why he was there, that he is straight, just moved here from Atlanta and knows no one and he was only there because he came along with his boss who is gay and who just got picked up and left with a man. Jeremy was the gayest man I talked to last night. But anyway, I felt no need to challenge him on it. Who cares? Do your thing, honey. Jeremy's rambling about how straight he is was getting old fast and I started subtly kicking the back of Randy's bar stool--our signal that it is time to go, please, God.

The boys exchanged phone numbers and we finally left at 1:00 AM and on the way home Randy said: "That guy is so NOT gonna call me because he wants to screw everything that walks." I patted his hand and dropped Miss Otis off and decided to take the beach-route home. I rolled down all the windows and let my hair blow in my face and listened to Dave Matthews sing wistfully about getting laid. I smiled and sang along. It was a good night.