September 15, 2003 - 9:16 a.m.
I'd like to tell you a story. We'll call it "what not to do in a dyke bar" or for short, "the worst night in the fucking history of my usually more than bearable life".
once upon a time, the protagonist, who we'll call ... "I", went to the neighbourhood homo hang out, with a large group of friends, among whom were some old friends from overseas, other newer friends from the city. As usual, the bar was packed with people "I" knew and a few "I" didn't. After having predrank at "I"s house their night began to pick up speed. they were dancing and letting it all go, and perhaps having what was destined to be one of the best nights of their lives. At this point everyone was having fun, some were having too much fun, particularly one drunk french boy who was overstepping, in huge sloshy leaps, the boundaries between himself and most of the lesbians in the bar. When his messiness became aparent to the bouncers they asked him pleasantly to please calm down a little and sit for a while until his enebriation wore down slightly. He, being a 6'4 afro clad frenchmen felt that he was "no problem" and continued his attempts to lurch around the bar. This caused the bouncer to question his "problematic" nature. All of these developments caught "I's attention as she approached the bar to see what everyone was up to, wiping the sweat from her brow which had accumulated from all the oblivious, lighthearted fun on the dance floor. Seeing that things were getting out of hand, she told the bouncer she would take him out immediately. En route to doing so, with much protest from said frenchman, she passed her beautiful girlfriend who, puzzled, relayed the conversation she'd just had with one of "I"s..."friends"?
"your girlfriend is cheating on you" was the extent of the dialogue.
Hearing this I went to inquire why this type of accusation would be made by people i have not seen nor spoken to in months but who, to my knowledge, i have only ever been kind to and loyal to, perhaps to a fault. Hurt by the ignorance of this remark, especially given their lack of insight into the dynamic of I's relationship and their level of mutual trust and honesty, hearing these cunts reply "sucks to be honest" hurt her feelings considerably. SHe was not, however, able to stay and discuss this at any length because of the situation unfolding at the door where the french dude was trying to bust back in, insisting he was fine, and further frustrating the door person. Livid from the "cheating" remark, I ruminated on the one nasty commentator "Funny, isn't that why your ex girlfriend dumped your ass" (seeing as that's what her ex girlfriend had said upon hearing of their accusation against I). So, back to the door, I pulled with all my might, huffing and puffing to keep the frenchboy from blowing the door down and getting ME, i mean I, permanently banned from the bar. Finally, angered and bewildered, we dragged him from the premises, back to I's apartment to pick up their things and send them home. However, our luck didn't end their. Frenchie, who we'll call, �ce, succeeded in hitting his head in my child proof hallway, bleeding his way into my apartment, where bandaged and threatening to spend the night, while HIS friends took off home, he lay himself on my couch and proceeded to vomit all over it and himself. Stumbling into the bathroom, he continued, as i tried to calm her freaking out girlfriend who is a compulsive neat freak and was not enjoying this lovely display of maturity. Fortunately the cunty lesbian drama wasn't affecting her in the least, but the prospect of �ce sleeping in her bed with his bloody, pukey self, was making her more than a little uneasy. With many appologies from his friends and much help from mine, we got him out the door, and began to settle into some serious clean up.
I slept badly, tossing and turning all night, wondering what she would say about all of this the next day. But of all these trials, one benefit emerged. Her relationship felt stronger than ever, because through all this drama they had shown how well they knew eachother, from the clamato to the couch situation, there wasn't a thing they couldn't get through together. and for the first time since she could remember I cried. bawled in fact, so much that her girlfriend could never have been dissuaded from believing with all her heart how deeply I needed and loved her.
the next day, after a satisfactorily honest message left for the lesbians via phone, and a long chat with my mom, our friend angie came over to make us smile and we all went out for breakfast.
The song "it just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride, everything will be just fine, everything will be alright" came on, spreading a smile across my face as a rainbow blushed the sky, illustrating the traumatized state of my brain. I needed to stop worrying so much about fucking assholes and catty bitches and know that her friends, the real ones, weren't about to let her slip, or let nights derailed by drunken antics bring her down. So now I feel better, with a soft spot for cheesy punk music and a deep appreciation for how lucky i am to have good friends and how incredible to have a relationship which will continue, happily as ever, in spite of what the bitter hearts, evil lesbian shit disturbers and seriously pushing the limits of your sanity frenchmen can throw their way.
Our story ends at ikea, where new slipcovers were purchased and the girls drove off into the sunset in a mercedes holding their bargain priced danish frozen yogurt and chocolate bars.
the end.
