I went to fetish night at manray on Friday with some friends. Saw more ass than I’d care to admit. But I suppose I just admitted it. I’m not into wearing my underwear and nothing else out at a club, nor am I into being spanked or prodded, but am fascinated by some of the trucs that people enjoy. And I’m not judging them. I’m glad for them. I enjoy watching them. But I’m not really a looky-loo either.

G.G. Allen in panties and a harness circled us. He tried to stick his vibrator up S’s skirt/ass. She wasn’t into it. This is rare for manray. One of the things that I like about that place is that you can dance and no one tries to hump you like at the other clubs.

What the dancing said:
Boy with sculptural abs in long vinyl skirt: I’m dancing, but I’m also gathering up little bits of fabric for my art project!
Girl with black keyhole dress: I’m swirling my arms around my head to say “I’m so beautiful, look how beautiful, I’m so beautiful. How beautiful.” Now I’m stamping emphatically to illustrate how industrial I am. Maybe I’ll build a large metal structure and dance on top of it with storm clouds. I am fifty stories tall.

Break out the Cure tapes!

The woman whipping couples who were chained up to an arbor of sorts reminded me of my Big & Beautiful Lebanese hairdresser if she were dressed up for an Indian wedding. She also whipped and caressed them with those kids’ fiber optic light wand thingies that you get at the Ice Capades or Disney’s Electric Light Parade. Fun for the whole family!

There were some drag queens with bad wigs. One was dressed strangely enough like my mother, with a very light blonde, very flaxen wig. Not only flaxen in color, but in texture as well. She enjoyed herself, flitting about with a girly drink in hand, pinky out, and a tiny quiet smile—the kind my mother used to reserve for tony dinner parties and perfect Dana Buchman suits. Only this lady was smiling quietly at the Big & Beautiful woman whipping the couples with her Ice Capades souvenirs.

Things I learned:

1. They neglected to mention, on Sex & the City, that Charlotte’s fabled Rabbit vibrator apparently eats up batteries like nobody’s business. It does, evidently, though, have two separate remote controllers!

2. Hi-Fi Pizza has some damn good chicken fingers.

I just got back from my uncle’s eightieth birthday party in Berlin, Connecticut, so this weekend has certainly been bipolar in activity, but perhaps more thematically similar than one might venture to guess. It’s just that some people are more repressed than others, I think.

Tonight I’m going out for a friend’s birthday to Bugaboo Creek. Hmmm. A talking moose to cap the weekend. I suppose it makes some warped sense somewhere in the collective unconscious.

Fairytales can come true, they can happen to you, when you’re Jung at heart.

Har har.