Yesterday I was feeling low. Despite being engaged in an email conversation with ETG (now to be known as BRG = Beautiful Russian Girl) in which we are making vague future plan without sorting out (for me) whether this is a romantic or platonic sort of thing.
J, who I met a week ago volunteering, texted me with a cryptic invite to get all dressed up and hit up a club in D.C. with her girl and her girl’s neighbor (both AA and in their early 40s). After over agonizing on what to wear, I went with what I wear. Ended up at the grand opening of the District, a new predominately African American lesbian club in Adams Morgan.
I was definitely the only tow headed white girl there rocking the “Run DMC” sneaks, skinny black jeans, pink t-shirt, and blue plaid button up. And that fucking worked for me. I felt fantastic. So much fun, so many girls, so many different style. Strong butch women, classy femmes, flippin femmes; 97% African American; young, mature, older. Every shape and size was represented. A totally different vibe, but still so easy to walk right into; comfortable and natural.
I watched the floor for a while and then asked the sexiest girl out there a) if she was with anyone and b) to dance with me. Rihanna pales next to this girl. So. Fucking. Fine. I danced with her on and off all night, in my space respectful white girl way. I’m not an aggro kinda girl on the dance floor. Throughout the night I danced with many other girls, but as far as I’m concerned, I only danced with her. Once you dance with the hottest girl at the club, all others are like phantoms. Before I get too euphoric, I didn’t get her phone number. There will be no follow up. Just more innocent figuring shit out.
Hoping like hell the girl whose image ghosts through my mind is at HomoSonic at the end of the month. This time I’ll ask her to dance, the worst that can happen is she’ll say no. I think I’ll go to Phase I this weekend and continue practicing this whole being gay thing.
Side note: Since I stopped operating under a straight mindset (18 days ago), the way I dress, act, and carry myself isn’t an awkward liability, but natural, easy, and sexy. There will be many rough spots, but it’s just so good to stop trying to force myself to be a realized expectation and just be.
Also: Tegan and Sara’s first two albums really sound like forced Ani DiFranco. So Jealous was a huge departure and so much better. If I don’t make myself sick to death of their music between now and then, I’m really looking forward to their concert in mid-Feb...right after Frostburn weekend (or Valentine’s day weekend if you’re into that). I’ve got a great seat…even if I’m going by myself. Going by myself is my specialty. I would like to see that change.
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