Showing posts with label Lesbo Routine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lesbo Routine. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Your Sexual Antics Make Me Puke

Warning! Rash generalizations and social stereotypes ahead!

For years I have been trying to put my finger on something: why do horny people in nightclubs tend to annoy me? On Saturday night, as occasionally happens, Club Abstract was invaded early by a sextet of hootchie girls who spun around me on the otherwise empty dancefloor, hooting, grinding together, attempting a line-dance choreography that simply wasn't working out.

As always in these situations I go through my "anti-mysanthropy thought exercise," to try to see through whatever's bothering me and recognize the antagonist's human traits. But it wasn't working. Plus I was standing next to a friend who expressed great attraction for the hootchies, and who viewed my rising gorge as a sign of my personal bitterness and/or unfounded elitism.

Maybe he's right! Or maybe that's part of it. But over the last few days I've done my best to pick apart what annoys me about the hootchie girls, and what annoys me about bar-sexuality in general, and I think I've finally figured it out.

* * *

First, I have a personal beef about people who are disconnected from their environments; people who see the world as catering entirely to their own social group, no matter where they happen to be at the time; people who think they're projecting a certain impression while they're really projecting a different one; people who are, in a word, clueless about others.

What bothers me about the hootchies is not that they're trying to be SEXY (though I'll get to that angle shortly). What bothers me is that they are being blatantly self-centered -- "This is our dancefloor and everybody is here to see US!" -- while expressing sexual antics (the grinding, the choreography) that THEY think of as "edgy, transgressive, alternative" but are in fact perceived as "typical, desperate, sleazy." Sure, my friend was TURNED ON by their behaviour, but not because they were in any way "edgy." He was turned on because they were exactly what he likes: slutty and attention-seeking. There's a difference.

This "lesbo routine" that girls do in bars is always presented by them as a form of extreme sexuality, when it's actually the most white-bread, overexposed form of dancefloor sexuality around. That's what bothers me: not that they're slutty or average, but because they think they're NOT slutty or average.

Before you accuse me of PICKING ON some concept of "mainstream culture," let me say that I am equally annoyed by counter-culture people whose perceptions are out-of-sync with the rest of the world. There's a gothy-girl at Abstract, for instance, who we call "Stompy Flamingo." She and her way-too-serious boyfriend do an exceptionally uncoordinated tango around the dancefloor, and then she'll break into a random collection of loud foot-stomps that could only be an attempt at "flamenco." It's probably the funniest thing you'll ever see.

But it's not funny because of her dance itself...if somebody wants to do a clumsy flamenco imitation, that alone is not silly. What's silly is that she SERIOUSLY BELIEVES THAT SHE APPEARS TO BE AN ACCOMPLISHED DANCER, but she's not, and nobody thinks she is. And while it's always dangerous to ascribe motivations for people's behaviour, you can usually tell by body language or facial expression when somebody is self-serious.

(As an aside, people like Stompy Flamingo are "Boodles." I keep promising to define the Boodles, and I eventually will. Curiously, the "hootchies" are generally NOT Boodles).

So what bugs me about the hootchies is their belief that they are being "extreme," while the rest of the world sees them as "average." They're the "look at my extreme tongue piercing" people. They're similar to people who actually think that publically displaying their cel phone puts them into a higher social class. They're disconnected in so many ways.

* * *

My second point is that sex is, generally, a pretty boring thing to be around. There's a reason why pornos rarely have a higher concept: when people are horny -- or when they're actually HAVING sex -- they almost always regress to a bundle of need-gratifying cliches. Likewise, when people have sex in movies and books, they either say the same old boring, time-worn phrases, or they talk in a way that nobody EVER talks.

So when people are horny, the part of them that makes them interesting -- their personality -- becomes thinner, because the sex-crazed, primitive animal is rising to the surface and displacing their distinguishing characteristics. That's perfectly natural, but it makes a person a dull boy or girl.

To make the situation worse, however, we tend to replace our REAL personalities with a "sexy routine," one we've learned over the years or -- if we have more than one -- whichever seems to be the most appropriate or advantageous in the current situation. If we pick a totally dull and average routine -- which the hootchies do -- we'll not only be suffering from the lack of personality that sex ALREADY tends to bring, but we'll be REPLACING that personality with something that we saw on Jerry Springer.

The final blow comes when the hootchies, as I said, THINK their Springer routine is something, but it's actually something totally different. Three strikes, you're out, I puke.

Some people certainly DO maintain their personalities when they're horny, which most others probably consider to be confusing and off-putting.

I'd like to point out that people tend to homogenize when they dance, as well. As a final example, on Saturday night there was a guy on the edge of the dancefloor who danced like a tree: his feet were firmly rooted in one spot, he moved his torso back and forth, he waved his arms, and he kept his eyes closed. But unlike Stompy Flamingo or the hootchies, he didn't seem to care about the rest of the world, which precludes him suffering the aforementioned disconnected impression (that he's super-cool but everybody else thinks he looks silly).

The Tree-Dancer actually made me HAPPY, because I believed he was dancing FOR HIMSELF, and that while he was aware enough of his surroundings to not be inconsiderate to others, he was not particularly concerned about how others viewed him...AND he had a pretty good idea of how they really DO view him, as illustrated by the two jocky guys who stood next to him and obnoxiously mocked him.

This gives me a final segue. I realize in my earlier description of my Saturday confrontation that it might sound like my attack of track-suit guy was unprovoked. Nope: he was one of the guys making aggressive fun of the tree dancer, so I automatically assumed he was moving on to making fun of me, which he probably was until I called him on it (at which time he brilliantly switched to victim-mode). Just so you know.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

People in Heat, and Me

Updated: The guy who swiped me wasn't wearing a baseball hat, he was wearing a toque. This confused me because I THOUGHT it was a baseball hat, but when I reached out to grab the brim there was nothing there, which made it look like I was casting some sort of "back off, jerk" spell in the air. A really clumsy spell.

First off, on the right, that's Meagan and me tonight. Meagan owns Scaredy Cats and is a super-cool, wonderful woman. We also used to own the same boots. Whenever these boots frustrate me or hurt me, I tell myself that Meagan used to dance in them, and then I feel alright.

A person can't have a good night every night. If we somehow managed to always have The Best Night Ever, we'd no doubt get horribly bored.

I've learned that the best thing to do when going "out on the town" is to expect the worst...that way I won't be disappointed. Somehow, though, every time I expect a LITTLE MORE than the worst I end up having a disturbing night with the people in heat.

There are only two bars in Kitchener/Waterloo that I'm comfortable in: Club Renaissance and Club Abstract. While I love so many of the people at Renaissance, I hate the music, so I tend to find myself at Abstract...which is usually pretty quiet and calm and protective of Yours Truly.

Nobody can pretend that, at a straight bar, I don't stand out. And I'm the first to admit that I enjoy being visible and standing out, mainly because I think I DESERVE it. I'm not necessarily a BETTER person than the average, but I'm certainly different.

For me, the ideal night at Club Abstract is a lot of comfortable dancing and a lot of sweet people. Too much of that can get dull, for sure, but every year or so -- at unpredictable moments -- the stars align and the bar becomes packed with...well, "Flotsam."

Much of Flotsam are really sweet people, I'm sure. They tend to be quite young, they dress in a very average and conservative way. The boys are in baseball caps and the girls grind with each other (the "Lesbo Girl Routine"), and their ONLY reason for being in the bar is to find SOMEBODY to have sex with. Everything they do is directed towards the basic need to rut. They don't dance because they like the music, they dance because they want to grab some girl's butt.

This is offensive to me because it ruins all the reasons that I go to Club Abstract in the first place: room to dance, and wonderful songs to dance to. But when the Flotsam is taking up all the room, I start to wonder why the heck they don't go to the 9 OTHER bars in town. And I realize that they're slumming. They think it's a dangerous, spooky bar. They view the "regulars" as zoo animals. Or, equally likely, they're spilling over from Friday night at Abstract, which is about as meat-head-y as you can possibly imagine.

So I'm seeing the Flotsam. Wonderful people I'm sure. But they're taking up lots of room on the dancefloor, and most of them aren't even dancing. The ones that ARE dancing are doing the inexcusable "circle dance," where they all stand in an inward-facing circle just like they did in grade seven. Circles are inefficient shapes that waste space. Tonight somebody told me that girls did it to "avoid boys." That's bull...boys always come up from behind anyway.

Now I'm engaging in stereotypical behaviour that is -- objectively -- equally inexcusable. I start to deliberately puncture circles. Hey, if I'm the only person actually dancing to a song, I have a right to claim that enormous empty spot in the middle of your circle. At least that's what I'm thinking at the time.

By doing this I start to make enemies. And on these rare Flotsam nights, I can't afford enemies, because already I'm being scoped out by the men who spy me as an easy target. Maybe they think I'm a girl or maybe they don't, but with me acting all cocky it's already apparent that I have no friends on the dancefloor (and this is the funny thing about Flotsam nights...the "friendly" people are always absent).

So it becomes a stand-off: I'm out there to assert myself, and they're out there to victimize me. Honestly, this is how it happens. Often it's just a matter of some beefy f*cker sticking his fat bully neck in my path, or some guy doing a mocking "pick up the drag queen jig" around me. I deal with these situations by looking as happy as possible, which -- believe me -- makes them SO angry.

But every few years -- like tonight -- I get into a physical situation. As I walked past two of the Flotsam boys, one of them grabbed my skirt and yanked it up. Personally I can deal with this, but for some reason I feel it's my duty to teach men NOT to do such things, even though most of the women I know decide to just put up with it (to be nice), which only perpetuates the behaviour.

It's not my place to tell men what they can't do to women, but in any case I turn around and grab at the edge of the guy's toque and say "Don't EVER do that AGAIN!" Later, when I find myself in the middle of an increasingly hostile dance floor, buddy swats me on the back of the neck as he walks past, so I swat him too. This is stupid.

This has happened SO many times. I continue to stand there but I don't even WANT to be there, I'm NOT having fun, but I feel the need to stand my ground. I don't want the bad element of the Flotsam to think they've "won" by chasing me out of the bar with their general idiocy. Most importantly, I'm realizing that there IS a difference between the GOOD Flotsam and the BAD Flotsam, and I've spent part of the night alienating the good.

So tonight I speak to Nigel about it. Nigel wears showy clothing and is usually the other person who gets pushed around on these nights. All night, Nigel has been -- get this -- DOING MAGIC TRICKS for people. By doing this he is marking himself as a non-threat. He's being the "class clown" to avoid victimization. I do this too on more relaxed nights, but I'm at a disadvantage because men don't tend to think that Nigel is threatening their sexuality.

Might I just say for a second that most men come across as threatening in these situations? Do men realize this? I don't think so. I think that many doggedly pursue sex without realizing how claustrophobic they can be. But then a lot of women -- and I'm lumping myself in here -- either don't complain or (in some cases) don't seem to mind such a thing, so who's to blame? Perhaps me.

While Nigel plays the clown, my way of getting through these nights is to put on my sociology hat. Who are these people? What do they want? Why are they here? But for the most part they all just melt into the "sexual stew." It's like watching locusts in a mating frenzy. Intellect, self-reflection, and individuality appear to be completely shut off. They're animals.

Then I step back and realize that *I* am the abnormal one. *I* am the one who isn't perpetuating my genetic line (and thank goodness!). Who the heck am *I* to say that their behaviour is wrong?

Finally -- after many drinks and many songs I didn't want to dance to -- I come to a basic conclusion: we've got different ideas of right and wrong. I don't think you should take up space on a dancefloor if you're not actually dancing -- and I mean REALLY, you jerks, STOP DOING THAT -- whereas they believe they should be able to go wherever they want and pick up somebody, and why the hell is that FAG in the way?

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

The Bridle

Someone has brought up the question of obsolete gestures, among them the Ogle. This calls to mind the conventional response to the Ogle--the Bridle.

Not long ago I thought a gentleman ogled me, and so I responded with what I thought was a Bridgle. But instead of following at a discreet distance, as oglers are said to have done, this gentleman came up to me at once and said: "Didn't I meet you last Saturday night at a party on West End Avenue?"

Something, you can readily see, was wrong. I began to wonder if I had bridled incorrectly. In order to find my mistake, I asked my friends to bridle.

Most of them thought, as I had, that bridling was a self-conscious recognition of wicked admiration, involving, of course, pleasurable sensations.

We thought it was akin to smirking or simpering, and had something to do with edging nearer without quite losing one's niceness. We may have confused the Bridle in some way with the Sidle.

We were wrong. Webster defines the Bridle as an indignant Toss of the head, as of a bridled horse. Can you EE-magine?

Now if some kind gentleman will Ogle me or Insult me in the good old-fashioned way, I shall be glad to bridle properly. It has taken practice to acquire the gesture, I must confess, for without the old spirit to inspire me I can achieve only the outward observance. But given the proper stimulus, who knows how well I can do?

--Josie Turner (The New Yorker, May 28, 1927)
When somebody ogles me, I don't bridle...I ignore. Or I walk away a slight distance, hoping they'll follow. This is my way of saying either "you don't know what you're getting into," or "yes, I'm interested...but I'm not doing ANYTHING unless you're more obvious about it."

In nightclubs, at least, the Ogle still exists, but it has been partially replaced with the butt-grab. I think most women in clubs tend not to Bridle, they tend to slightly isolate themselves (but not so much as to be alone) and wait to see if the Ogler approaches.

The unfortunate female version of the Ogle seems to be the Lesbo Routine, which involves grinding with another girl as though the two were lesbians, but actually doing it to attract MALE attention, which I think is unsavoury on so many levels both social and political. It works...but at what cost, ladies?