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I spent an awful lot of Christmas day asleep. That's probably a good sign that I needed to.
Put on my big, red, stretch velvet dress. Returned a DVD. Got cash. Got to the Mercury. Waited in the rain for the door to open. Got to see various peeps, including A (Foreshadowing!).
Then I got skeeved upon by a guy who claimed to know the artist of St. Rat and invited me over to the artist's place. I declined. He also claimed to be gay. Reader, that was totally not his vibe. He non-consensually touch me a few times.
In other words, this guy was the grossest tranny chaser I'd come across in years. Given the high percentage of trans women to be found at the Mercury, I suppose that was inevitable. A whispered in my ear, asking if I'd like a rescue. I nodded, and she walked me past the main bar.
A's main squeeze (Don't make me say "joyfriend"), who's AMAB non-binary and very much looks it is named J, not to be confused with J-the-lady, a pal of A's who happened not to be there last night. J-the-NB said that the aforementioned skeevy dude propositioned them. None of us got around to complaining fast enough, though, because a Merc staffer spotted the skeevy dude taking his belt off on the dance floor and immediately 86'd him. He whined all the way out the door. ¡Viva la Mercury!
On my way home I spotted DJ Wrain Havoc on her phone at the end of the alley. I waved as I walked by. She interrupted her call to say, "I heard what happened. Are you OK?"
I shrugged, "It happens." I'd encountered worse, but it had been a while.
Caught the last train home — it was an hour early because of Christmas, which I hadn't known — with two minutes to spare. Then waited only two minutes for the bus. A Christmas transit miracle.
Skeevy dude is close in age to yours truly. I sincerely hope that he learns not to be gross before he runs out of years. Someone ought to do some science on those fuckers. Where do they come from? Why are they like that? How can they stop being like that?
Put on my big, red, stretch velvet dress. Returned a DVD. Got cash. Got to the Mercury. Waited in the rain for the door to open. Got to see various peeps, including A (Foreshadowing!).
Then I got skeeved upon by a guy who claimed to know the artist of St. Rat and invited me over to the artist's place. I declined. He also claimed to be gay. Reader, that was totally not his vibe. He non-consensually touch me a few times.
In other words, this guy was the grossest tranny chaser I'd come across in years. Given the high percentage of trans women to be found at the Mercury, I suppose that was inevitable. A whispered in my ear, asking if I'd like a rescue. I nodded, and she walked me past the main bar.
A's main squeeze (Don't make me say "joyfriend"), who's AMAB non-binary and very much looks it is named J, not to be confused with J-the-lady, a pal of A's who happened not to be there last night. J-the-NB said that the aforementioned skeevy dude propositioned them. None of us got around to complaining fast enough, though, because a Merc staffer spotted the skeevy dude taking his belt off on the dance floor and immediately 86'd him. He whined all the way out the door. ¡Viva la Mercury!
On my way home I spotted DJ Wrain Havoc on her phone at the end of the alley. I waved as I walked by. She interrupted her call to say, "I heard what happened. Are you OK?"
I shrugged, "It happens." I'd encountered worse, but it had been a while.
Caught the last train home — it was an hour early because of Christmas, which I hadn't known — with two minutes to spare. Then waited only two minutes for the bus. A Christmas transit miracle.
Skeevy dude is close in age to yours truly. I sincerely hope that he learns not to be gross before he runs out of years. Someone ought to do some science on those fuckers. Where do they come from? Why are they like that? How can they stop being like that?
