Last night I went to the Castro Comic Book Club for the first time in a while. It happened to be a potluck, so I whipped up a batch of Rajma Rasmisa (Kidney Bean Curry) and Haldi Chaval (Turmeric Rice).
After the potluck, a bunch of us went to the Mix where it seemed that everyone except for me got totally plastered. The bartender, Patricio, was none other than my big crush from the gay.com billboard at Market & Noe last year.
I also bumped into a friend of a friend, Joassaint, who I hadn't seen in a while. He's a reminder of how different American and French (or French-Canadian?) straight men can be. At the last party I went to with Joassaint, he and our mutual friend Danny were dancing in that way that straight girls are able to dance with each other without issue. The two of them got a little playful, causing one of the women at the party to gape at them and mutter drunkingly, "omg, that's hot." American straight guys just can't seem to dance together unless they have two or three girls sandwiched between them.
I had my fill of drinks at the Mix and needed to get some sleep, but I got roped into heading to yet another bar, 440. I like to dance. So for me, there are few things more frustrating than bars that have great dance music, but no dancing. I'm just not that into the whole primp & pose thing. Luckily, I wasn't the only one who felt that way, and soon the six of us were dancing in the back.