Last week was pretty busy at work and I didn't get a chance to post, so thought I'd store up all the anecdotes and news tidbits for one whopper of a post this week. Of course, now that I'm there, I can't remember anything I wanted to write! I'm trying to get into the habit of scribbling ideas in my notebook as they come to me, but clearly I have some work to do before that actually takes off - like maybe picking up a pen.
I've had a number of interviews over the past week, and I've also had some pretty positive feedback, so I'm starting off this week feeling quite hopeful. The last one on my list is a second round interview on Wednesday, and that's the end of the current lot. They've started interviewing for my position at my company again, so I think they want someone to start as soon as possible in the new year. Which means I'm on a bit of a tight schedule if I want to get a new perm job without having to temp in between once I leave here. I'm hoping to have something good to report soon, but if I don't mention it again, assume nothing came of any of them and we're back to business as usual.
On Friday night I went with Mello and her GBF PrettyBoy to G.A.Y. at the London Astoria. Now, G.A.Y. is a club I have been dying to go to ever since I came to London. I remember walking past it in my first week here and reading with wonder the tattered flyers tacked to the intimidating black doors, advertising gigs by everyone from Madonna to Kylie to Atomic Kitten. I imagined drag queens clad in bustiers and feather boas a la Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and gorgeous gay Adonis in micro-hotpants and little else, their abs rippling as they shimmied their snake-like hips around the dancefloor. No, I don't have some weird sex fantasy involving gay guys, I just think most of them are hot! And how nice to be able to perve to your heart's content and know you won't have to deal with any unwanted attention resulting from your eyeballing. Plus, the gays know how to throw a party, it's a fact.
So when Mello invited me to spend the night treading the floorboards where many legends have gone before, I couldn't say no, despite only having £20 to my name. It was never going to be about getting pissed - £20 does not go far in a Central London club; instead, it was going to be about getting down!
We met PrettyBoy and his boyfriend The Brain at a bar in Leicester Square for some drinks beforehand. PrettyBoy is so named because he is exceedingly pretty in a delicate, almost ethereal kind of way. The Brain is big, black and intimidatingly smart (he's a teacher who moonlights as a playwright). I'm still learning my way around terminology in the gay community, and my first faux pax of the evening came in the way I addressed their relationship. Very proud of my integratedness that comes from hanging out with GBF, I casually asked how long PrettyBoy and The Brain had been partners for. PrettyBoy looked at me rather quizzically, while The Brain seemed set to hightail it out of the bar and down the road in a cloud of dust, Road-Runner style. He informed me, rather panickedly I thought, that the two of them have been going out for just 4 months, and that PrettyBoy is his boyfriend. Realising quickly that I had obviously attributed far more intensity (and perhaps fidelity) to their relationship than was warranted, I quickly backtracked and made a rather tasteless comment about casual sex, which drew further concern and raised eyebrows from both men. Righto, off to as good start now that they think I am both naive and a sexual merry-go-round.
The tables turned my way again when the guys discovered my age, and were in a state of shock, both declaring they didn't think I was a day over 23 (incidentally, this is both of their ages). They were fabulously complientary for the rest of the night, and by the time we left to hit G.A.Y. my head was twice its normal size. The Brain didn't come with us - apparently it's not really his scene. A gay guy doesn't like G.A.Y.? How is this possible, I mused to myself as we sashayed over. I was soon to find out.
We got in with no problems, despite being nervous about it. The club has a strict gay and lesbian majority policy, and if they suspect you're straight and the straights are outnumbering the gays inside, they'll very likely refuse you entry. It was early days though, so we cruised through. I was wearing a red catsuit, something I had my mom send up after I'd left it behind in CT, thinking I'd have no use for it. This was before I'd been out in London and realised there is no city in the world better suited to a catsuit. Scarf, who'd been at drinks with her work, had decided to come and join us, and I spent about 20 minutes in the lobby waiting for her. I now know that if I ever want to go to the club again and I'm worried about the quota issue, all I have to do is stand in the queue in my red catsuit, and I shouldn't have any problems. Luckily for me, the bouncers are all straight, and they were pretty much falling over themselves to offer their services (How many more of your friends are coming? Do you need more free entry vouchers? Are any of them straight?). Good to know that feminine wiles can still work in a gay club!
As much as I was looking forward to the night, and as glad as I am that I have finally been to G.A.Y, I don't know that I'll be going back - at least, not on a Friday night. This is simply because it is so cheesy, even Micky Mouse would have a problem with it. Heaven knows I love cheesy pop music, and shaking my ass to Britney and Rihanna is definitely my thing, but even I struggled with this. After spending about 20 minutes on the lower floor where they play 70's and 80's stuff, we moved up to the top floor where they play only 90's (nothing later), because as good as I am with old music, even I could only recognize 1 in every 6 songs on the lower floor. So 90's it was, and my goodness, what a heavy dose of it. After the stellar triple play including I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys, Ooh Aah.... Just a Little Bit by Gina G (who even remembers that song!) and No Limit by 2 Unlimited, I thought it could not get any worse. I was wrong. The low point of the night was a remix of My Heart Will Go On from Titanic, with the entire floor belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs.
Don't get me wrong, I entered into the spirit of things with gusto, because I firmly believe that a good night out depends on much you're going to allow yourself to have fun, no matter what the circumstances. So I sang along with the rest of them, and shook my ass like my life depended on it. But could I reprise Celine Dion along with a cat's choir of 300 other people again? No way. Not even if the guys really did wear those micro-hotpants.
I've had a number of interviews over the past week, and I've also had some pretty positive feedback, so I'm starting off this week feeling quite hopeful. The last one on my list is a second round interview on Wednesday, and that's the end of the current lot. They've started interviewing for my position at my company again, so I think they want someone to start as soon as possible in the new year. Which means I'm on a bit of a tight schedule if I want to get a new perm job without having to temp in between once I leave here. I'm hoping to have something good to report soon, but if I don't mention it again, assume nothing came of any of them and we're back to business as usual.
On Friday night I went with Mello and her GBF PrettyBoy to G.A.Y. at the London Astoria. Now, G.A.Y. is a club I have been dying to go to ever since I came to London. I remember walking past it in my first week here and reading with wonder the tattered flyers tacked to the intimidating black doors, advertising gigs by everyone from Madonna to Kylie to Atomic Kitten. I imagined drag queens clad in bustiers and feather boas a la Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and gorgeous gay Adonis in micro-hotpants and little else, their abs rippling as they shimmied their snake-like hips around the dancefloor. No, I don't have some weird sex fantasy involving gay guys, I just think most of them are hot! And how nice to be able to perve to your heart's content and know you won't have to deal with any unwanted attention resulting from your eyeballing. Plus, the gays know how to throw a party, it's a fact.So when Mello invited me to spend the night treading the floorboards where many legends have gone before, I couldn't say no, despite only having £20 to my name. It was never going to be about getting pissed - £20 does not go far in a Central London club; instead, it was going to be about getting down!
We met PrettyBoy and his boyfriend The Brain at a bar in Leicester Square for some drinks beforehand. PrettyBoy is so named because he is exceedingly pretty in a delicate, almost ethereal kind of way. The Brain is big, black and intimidatingly smart (he's a teacher who moonlights as a playwright). I'm still learning my way around terminology in the gay community, and my first faux pax of the evening came in the way I addressed their relationship. Very proud of my integratedness that comes from hanging out with GBF, I casually asked how long PrettyBoy and The Brain had been partners for. PrettyBoy looked at me rather quizzically, while The Brain seemed set to hightail it out of the bar and down the road in a cloud of dust, Road-Runner style. He informed me, rather panickedly I thought, that the two of them have been going out for just 4 months, and that PrettyBoy is his boyfriend. Realising quickly that I had obviously attributed far more intensity (and perhaps fidelity) to their relationship than was warranted, I quickly backtracked and made a rather tasteless comment about casual sex, which drew further concern and raised eyebrows from both men. Righto, off to as good start now that they think I am both naive and a sexual merry-go-round.
The tables turned my way again when the guys discovered my age, and were in a state of shock, both declaring they didn't think I was a day over 23 (incidentally, this is both of their ages). They were fabulously complientary for the rest of the night, and by the time we left to hit G.A.Y. my head was twice its normal size. The Brain didn't come with us - apparently it's not really his scene. A gay guy doesn't like G.A.Y.? How is this possible, I mused to myself as we sashayed over. I was soon to find out.
We got in with no problems, despite being nervous about it. The club has a strict gay and lesbian majority policy, and if they suspect you're straight and the straights are outnumbering the gays inside, they'll very likely refuse you entry. It was early days though, so we cruised through. I was wearing a red catsuit, something I had my mom send up after I'd left it behind in CT, thinking I'd have no use for it. This was before I'd been out in London and realised there is no city in the world better suited to a catsuit. Scarf, who'd been at drinks with her work, had decided to come and join us, and I spent about 20 minutes in the lobby waiting for her. I now know that if I ever want to go to the club again and I'm worried about the quota issue, all I have to do is stand in the queue in my red catsuit, and I shouldn't have any problems. Luckily for me, the bouncers are all straight, and they were pretty much falling over themselves to offer their services (How many more of your friends are coming? Do you need more free entry vouchers? Are any of them straight?). Good to know that feminine wiles can still work in a gay club!
As much as I was looking forward to the night, and as glad as I am that I have finally been to G.A.Y, I don't know that I'll be going back - at least, not on a Friday night. This is simply because it is so cheesy, even Micky Mouse would have a problem with it. Heaven knows I love cheesy pop music, and shaking my ass to Britney and Rihanna is definitely my thing, but even I struggled with this. After spending about 20 minutes on the lower floor where they play 70's and 80's stuff, we moved up to the top floor where they play only 90's (nothing later), because as good as I am with old music, even I could only recognize 1 in every 6 songs on the lower floor. So 90's it was, and my goodness, what a heavy dose of it. After the stellar triple play including I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys, Ooh Aah.... Just a Little Bit by Gina G (who even remembers that song!) and No Limit by 2 Unlimited, I thought it could not get any worse. I was wrong. The low point of the night was a remix of My Heart Will Go On from Titanic, with the entire floor belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs.
Don't get me wrong, I entered into the spirit of things with gusto, because I firmly believe that a good night out depends on much you're going to allow yourself to have fun, no matter what the circumstances. So I sang along with the rest of them, and shook my ass like my life depended on it. But could I reprise Celine Dion along with a cat's choir of 300 other people again? No way. Not even if the guys really did wear those micro-hotpants.
2 comments:
Oh my word, this must have been hysterical to watch as a fly on the wall. Wonderfully written, Lopz.
Well done.
Thanks shebee. Everyone knows gays are quite dramatic, but the sweeping arm gestures and "i'm flying" dance moves that emerged during Titanic were quite alarming ;-)
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