Chrisonomicon

Sunday, May 6, 2001

The familiar hi-fi thump and acrid smell welcomed me as I walked into the bar. I said hello to a few familiar faces, exchanged hugs, pecks on cheeks, and graciously accepted a drink offer. Despite all the familiarity, I felt oddly out of place.

It had been a few months since I had ventured to our city's only gay bar. It's a fairly large complex, hidden in the back alley of a neighborhood forgotten by everyone except its residents. History has taught its patrons to keep to the back alleys, and yet despite efforts to break stereotypes, the gay community here will never escape this one. We are the outcasts that must meet in the secret of night. It's quasi-romantic, really.

After a few minutes, I walked to the entrance to meet my friends who were just coming in. We toured the bar with a newcomer, describing various locations where various cliques would congregate, guided him through the lesbian bar, the leather bar, the country-western bar, and finally ended back in the lesbian room. Everyone is impressed with the place their first time.

I requested a song from the hispanic girl in the DJ booth, and she nodded, her green jersey flailing wildly as she juggled vinyl. Dancing came ackwardly in the half-empty room, even when my song began to play. Try as I might, the feeling just wasn't there. I felt like a foreigner, discretely trying to fit in, but necessarily (and obviously) failing. Instead, I gave up trying to get into the groove and watched the people.

A good-looking guy who had hit on me earlier was drunkenly making out with another guy. I looked away. As we danced, a boyish drifter wandered in from the other bar and stood on the outskirts of the floor. He appeared out of place, too, and I looked away. A guy dancing with us smiled at me and came a little closer. I tried looked away, but there was no where left to look.

I made my exit silently, quickly saying goodbye to my friends. As I walked to my car in the light rain, I couldn't help but feel strangely sterile, as though my visit to the bar was nothing more than professional. It was quick and impersonal, which is unusual for me. Normally, I feel right at home, but the mood I've been in lately seems to have estranged me from my friends and routine.

I stare at a collection of phone numbers I've accumulated over the past week, and blush at the bravado I initially displayed, only to collapse under my inability to use them now. I have nothing to say to these people. Instead, I spend hours grooming myself ? showering, shaving, moisturizing, preening ? and even more hours studying and reading. I yearn for the days when club life came so naturally and sparked even a bit of emotion. Instead, I curl up with a good book, my dog at my feet, and sleep soundly at night.