My Lezzie A Game

Posted on | September 29, 2008 | 12 Comments

As you all know, I’m a friend to lezzies everywhere and in an effort to meet and befriend as many of my lezzie sisters as possible, I agreed to go lezzie dancing with RSG and her wife, HG, on Saturday night. Under one condition: we could NOT go to the Egyptian Room. Because a trip to the Egyptian Room is scary and I have to hold my pee because I can’t use the restroom unless RSG comes with me because the lezzies there are not friends of Melissa Lion. No. They are not. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re not friends with any woman who has ever worn a skirt, looked at a man with anything resembling lust, or fancies bras that do not bind her breasts, but rather accentuate them.

So, we went to the Hot Flash Dance at Barracudas (Steve asked me if the bar was actually called Cougars, which I found very funny) and then we went to Holoscene for lezzie night.

The Hot Flash Dance was fine. But Holoscene was most excellent. We boogied to some actual dance music that had nothing to do with Melissa Ethridge and the lezzies there were young and cute. Like we are.

There was romance in the air to be sure. And, as RSG informed me, “You just talk to lezzies! Just pull one over to you and start chatting.” I saw this behavior happening all around me and I put a smile on my face and wandered around, waiting for someone to pull me over to her and start chatting. But, because this is a bar and the combination of alcohol and nighttime means that somehow I become repellent to strangers, I was not hit on. At all. Yes, right, good, I’ve never been hit on in a bar.

But RSG and HG were talking to all sorts of women, and eventually they found themselves talking to a group of women, one of which I thought was attractive and maybe I’d try out some of my lezzie moves.

So I worked up my nerve and gave her my opening line:

“That shirt is so cute, where did you get it?”

Right? Because that’s how women in the straight world befriend each other. We compliment each other’s clothes and then try to be like the other person.

The cute lezzie paused and a brief look of confusion (and dare I say pity) crossed her face. But she was very sweet and gave me the information.

And I thought: Excellent, I am making some headway. So we chatted a bit more and I decided it was time for my next move:

“Your hair is so cute. Who cuts it?”

Again, same pause and crinkled nose. “I cut it myself,” she said. “Oh!” I said, “I’ve always wanted to try that.” And then, fortunately RSG sensed that something wasn’t quite right and engaged me in some sort of conversation just to rescue me from what can only be described as a swamp of uncomfortableness and anxiety.

Finally, the cute lezzie said to me, “You look great in those knee socks.” And I said, “Oh, I got them at Target! They come in a packet. Two for one!” (See there they are. Except those are the argyle ones and I wore the brown ones with the orange bands on the top.) The cute lezzie then said, “Melissa, are you having a good time?” And I said, “Yes, well, I left my purse inside and maybe I should get it and I’m worried that my friend is going to barf because she’s had like 77 cigarettes and she doesn’t smoke so maybe I should take care of that.”

I then rehashed the whole conversation for HG who had the same look of pity combined with a vague embarrassment and regret that we are friends and that I’ve eaten her food and will be, for many years to come, a fixture on their couch watching their mom-cable.

I said, “I think it’s time to go.” And she agreed and we grabbed RSG and hot-footed it out of there. Only to walk down the street to Sassy’s strip club where I had the same series of thoughts that always go through my head at strip clubs:

1) Why the hell isn’t this amateur night because I could totally show those girls what’s what on the pole.

2) Would they really kick out a woman for biting the bottom of one of the strippers?

3) What would I have to do in my life to make it so stripper heels were a reasonable fashion choice? I mean that with all due respect to strippers because what it would mean is that I never had to walk anywhere quickly and I’d be 6 feet tall with abs of steel and a full, round bitable bottom.

And then on Sunday, I woke up early and RSG and I and the boys all went to check out the livestock at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival. Because that’s how we do in Portland. By day we appreciate the domestic arts, by night it’s all lezzies and strippers.

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