Tonight's Post-Mortem brought to you by Susumu Hirasawa's Parade, since I've had the song ringing in my ear all night long and everybody else might as well be speaking the chorus from this song since I couldn't figure out what they were saying.
Because really, the 720th post would really be about a night out and not Eurovision.
Honestly, as much as a chameleon I try to be, there are certain subcultures I just cannot infiltrate nor understand.
The first is what I will call the "twink stars." "Twink stars" are the thin, occasionally toned men who walk around a bar with their high cheekbones, noses, and spiky hair up in the air with the belief/delusion that everybody wants them or wants to be them.
I'm sorry, but I can't.
I was never a twink even when I was under 25. My body can't twist itself into skinny and toned, and that is all right by me these days.
Yet, the twink stars were out in force at Splash tonight. Most likely since their Saturday raison d'être (aka The Roxy) is going bye-bye soon. I was elbowed, poked, and just flat out bumped by them while trying to enjoy my latest drink discovery: the Godiva White Orange Juice.
Not being an openly confrontational person (hey, I want to keep my free admission) , I buggered off to the View...even though the DJ downstairs was doing an EXCELLENT job and made me want to stay for more.
At The View, I was confronted with another gay subculture: the muscle bears. I am not hairy beyond my areolas, nor am I of a certain age, so it is damn near impossible for me to crack that group. Nonetheless, courtesy of Comic-Con being in town, The View had a "muscle" bear go-go boy in a superman outfit shaking his package opposite me. Another musclebear dug in next to me, and given the time I was all for those two to go off to their hirsute heaven.
This point in the game, my focus is solely on getting home by foot in one piece and with relatively coherent thoughts.
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