I escaped the bar without mishap and pondered this new and interesting culture on my way back to my apartment. Previously, I had attended gay bars in Oklahoma, Texas and the Catalonia region of Spain. All of those bars were similar, strangely. They were all huge impersonal discos with some differences. In some Oklahoma bars, the boys two-stepped arm in arm, and in Spain the boys did a traditional partner dance, as well. One of the guys would even wear a pseudo Mantilla in Spain, that was unique and interesting and an OBVIOUS cultural difference, but even with those differences the bars in Spain, Oklahoma and Texas were more similar than this bar in Arkansas.
Gays use bars for different reasons. Some go to bars to dance, drink and have a good time. Some go to find a partner either for the night or for longer. But, some go simply for the sense of community. They can go to their safe place in the world where they think everyone is like them, and they think they don't have to worry about being harrassed. However, even in those gay bars, there are still major differences among people. There are druggies, alcoholics, sex addicts, lonely hearts, rich, poor, attractive, thin, overweight, muscular, drag queens, transies, liars, thieves, uglies, religious, agnostic, and the list can go on and on. The only similarity among gays is their sexuality, and that is not always a unifying factor. Good Lord, the majority of the world is heterosexual, and the commonality of a shared sexual preference certainly wasn't enough to prevent world wars. One couldn't expect gays to get along simply because they were attracted to similar things. Most gay bars seemed shallow and impersonal BUT, in this bar, it was different. I couldn't put my finger on it just yet, but it felt strangely, overwhelmingly different from the bars I had attended before. My initial feeling was down-home and without pretense.
I didn't know how to feel there. I didn't know if I liked it. I had met some people I liked, and I had met some people who I definitely would not morn if they were struck by a car tonight. The strange thing about it was that I had met some people who I actually liked. Yeah, I'm a total bitch. I don't like most people in the world, and I don't really care if they like me or not. I have never been a people pleaser.
When I pulled up to my apartment, there I was alone. I'm sure my family had a wonderful Thanksgiving with all the trimmings. I'd had a turkey hot dog, but I liked it, and I didn't miss the family crap at all. It was just so much easier being removed from it. I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to watch what I said. I didn't have to pretend not to see scornful eyes. I could just be me.
I opened the door to my apartment and told myself that this place would just be temporary. I'd rented it furnished because I'd sold everything I owned to go to Spain. I didn't regret selling it, but looking around at this place certainly gave me motivation to work hard, save my money and get out of here. The furniture was very Monday Night Auction. The couch had this velvet feel to it that felt like sandpaper when it rubbed against my skin. Printed into the scratchy velvet in oranges, yellows and browns was some country scene with covered wagons, grist mills, cows and pioneer women. It looked more like a poster from Wool-a-roc than it did a print for a sofa. One arm chair matched and the other was red Nogahide with silver duct tape to cover gaping rips. The coffee and end tables matched, but that was not a compliment. They were light plasti-wood, but I'd never have to pollish it, and I certainly didn't have to worry about any spills. And that completed the decor in the living room. The kitchen had a brown formica topped table with 3 unmatched chairs with that same silver duct tape on the nogahide seats. The bedroom simply had a full size bed frame..and that was it. That was the whole of my furnished apartment in beautiful Hot Springs, Arkansas. Oh, I forgot one thing. The walls and the floors had a lot in common. They were all covered with 1970's drab olive green shag carpet. Yes, really, I am gay. I know it doesn't sound like it by the description of my abode, but I was not responsible for the decor of this aparment, and I certainly wasn't responsible for the shag carpet on the walls.
Gays use bars for different reasons. Some go to bars to dance, drink and have a good time. Some go to find a partner either for the night or for longer. But, some go simply for the sense of community. They can go to their safe place in the world where they think everyone is like them, and they think they don't have to worry about being harrassed. However, even in those gay bars, there are still major differences among people. There are druggies, alcoholics, sex addicts, lonely hearts, rich, poor, attractive, thin, overweight, muscular, drag queens, transies, liars, thieves, uglies, religious, agnostic, and the list can go on and on. The only similarity among gays is their sexuality, and that is not always a unifying factor. Good Lord, the majority of the world is heterosexual, and the commonality of a shared sexual preference certainly wasn't enough to prevent world wars. One couldn't expect gays to get along simply because they were attracted to similar things. Most gay bars seemed shallow and impersonal BUT, in this bar, it was different. I couldn't put my finger on it just yet, but it felt strangely, overwhelmingly different from the bars I had attended before. My initial feeling was down-home and without pretense.
I didn't know how to feel there. I didn't know if I liked it. I had met some people I liked, and I had met some people who I definitely would not morn if they were struck by a car tonight. The strange thing about it was that I had met some people who I actually liked. Yeah, I'm a total bitch. I don't like most people in the world, and I don't really care if they like me or not. I have never been a people pleaser.
When I pulled up to my apartment, there I was alone. I'm sure my family had a wonderful Thanksgiving with all the trimmings. I'd had a turkey hot dog, but I liked it, and I didn't miss the family crap at all. It was just so much easier being removed from it. I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to watch what I said. I didn't have to pretend not to see scornful eyes. I could just be me.
I opened the door to my apartment and told myself that this place would just be temporary. I'd rented it furnished because I'd sold everything I owned to go to Spain. I didn't regret selling it, but looking around at this place certainly gave me motivation to work hard, save my money and get out of here. The furniture was very Monday Night Auction. The couch had this velvet feel to it that felt like sandpaper when it rubbed against my skin. Printed into the scratchy velvet in oranges, yellows and browns was some country scene with covered wagons, grist mills, cows and pioneer women. It looked more like a poster from Wool-a-roc than it did a print for a sofa. One arm chair matched and the other was red Nogahide with silver duct tape to cover gaping rips. The coffee and end tables matched, but that was not a compliment. They were light plasti-wood, but I'd never have to pollish it, and I certainly didn't have to worry about any spills. And that completed the decor in the living room. The kitchen had a brown formica topped table with 3 unmatched chairs with that same silver duct tape on the nogahide seats. The bedroom simply had a full size bed frame..and that was it. That was the whole of my furnished apartment in beautiful Hot Springs, Arkansas. Oh, I forgot one thing. The walls and the floors had a lot in common. They were all covered with 1970's drab olive green shag carpet. Yes, really, I am gay. I know it doesn't sound like it by the description of my abode, but I was not responsible for the decor of this aparment, and I certainly wasn't responsible for the shag carpet on the walls.
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