This personal essay/informal expository piece was originally posted on Livejournal in January 2009.

I may continue working with it, or expand upon it to create some sort of a series about gay/lesbian dynamics and the influence of nightlife.

Enjoy. As always, comments are welcome and appreciated.

Last night, Trisha and I went to the L Word premiere at this club on 46th and 11th Avenue (read as: the end of the universe – everything ends when you get to 11th-12th Avenue). It was ridiculous. Just plain ri-dic-u-lous.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – it was entertaining, the first new episode and the various people watching.  But man, some of these girls…well, they just reminded me of the sluts hanging around Henrietta’s or Cattyshack. It was like I had seen them all before somehow, even in a city as big as New York. There’s also this perfume or cologne that always seems to infiltrate every lesbian/gay bar or club that I’ve ever been to (possibly even in London). It’s like the secret password I don’t know.

Maybe it was the fact that I waited alone in the incredibly long-ass line to get in which always sets me in a self-conscious mood. (Trisha was coming from the theater, so I got there before her.) I feel intimidated in front of that many girls, especially when I KNOW they’re all gay. Even when I have a girlfriend – an amazing one at that, who I’m completely in love with and practically live with, I get stupidly insecure. I felt like I was on display out there. Sure, I chatted with some groups of girls (friends) who were waiting and we made the best of the wait together, but it was awkward. And I’m usually okay with strangers. Not dykes, though. Especially not hot ones. 

When I finally got in, I killed time at the bar and then Trisha made it inside. We did some serious people-watching on a couch in the upstairs lounge. The place was HUGE, one of those warehouse-turned-nightclubs. Given the location, I wouldn’t be surprised if Pacha used to be the home some kind of distribution center. (I almost wrote “fish market” – ha, how appropriate.) It was three floors and on this night, jam-packed with girls from probably a 20-50 mile radius. The main floor was really insane – I only went down there for a few minutes, but I encountered many interesting characters along with go-go dancers. Yes, go-go dancers. Seriously, WTF, HRC? These were not cute, campy burlesque type go-go dancers. These were cheerleaders in heels. I’m sorry, do what you like, ladies, but it’s not my idea of entertainment. They were just so…gross. Maybe that’s harsh, maybe you just had to be there… 

After the show (and by show, I mean the actual television program – ha), we had to fight our way out through swarms of women to exit. (I actually thought of Jenny’s line from Season 1 – “women bodies.” The last time Jenny was remotely nice and endearing.) On our way, we stumbled across some more go-go girls – this time in glass boxes. Again, WTF? 

When we finally made it outside, I was so grateful to link arms and walk to the subway in the snow. It was cold and I had to pee, but I was happy. Happy to go home.

The whole night felt like a sociological experiment, like the producers of The Real World had hijacked the club and made sure every type of girl was present. Nearly every archetype was represented, there were even a few goofy in-love kids like me. However, overall, the meat-market vibe was the most predominant. But then I started thinking: hasn’t my clubbing/gay scene experience ALWAYS been more of a meat-market? Hardly anyone’s there to meet The One. But I used to…Then I learned that I was in the minority. So I tried to play the game and I sucked at it. (For the most part – I probably had more success in London than anywhere else and that was probably due to the fact that I was out of my element.) And then, I met Trisha. But not at a lesbian bar, thank the gods. (It just makes our story a little more original, to me, anyway.) 

While I’m a little disturbed and a lot disappointed in the lesbian/gay scene in New York, it also reminds me of conversations I’ve been having with a good straight friend of mine. She’s lamented how there are no good guys in New York and how cruel the dating scene can be. I never really GOT IT until last night when I scanned the rooms at all these women – some putting on a front, some blatantly putting their agendas out there, some not sure what the hell was going on. Everywhere you go – gay or straight – it does seem to be one big metaphorical game of Scrabble or Poker and you’re wandering around with the wrong letters or face cards. I know this is an understatement – and obvious one at that – but man, it’s rough out there.