![Channeling Spirits with V.D. Cards, or, Why We Didn't Make It to the [Medicinal] Cannibus Cup in L.A.](/images/c/channelingspiritswithvdcards.gif)
It was Saturday, Feb. 9th, and the prospects of hitting L.A. were looking relatively good at the time.
We stumbled into the Sister bar downtown, after serving the upstarts of the Hispano Chamber of Commerce's annual gala*.
After the door guy checks our I.D.'s, we are less than 20 people deep when I notice the demographic inside strongly favors females aged 21+. Not everyone is wearing red mind you, but LOTS of women are, and so am I—a red hoodie to be exact. But I didn't receive the official invitation and never read the fine print.
I wasn't sure what the numbers on everyone's backs were for, and if you were wearing red and had the sticker, (number 69 was sitting nearby and appeared to be feeling lucky), I was too nervous to ask the reason.
Frankie snickered after realizing that I was wearing the spectral equivalent of a lesbian baboon ass on my head.
I whispered to him:
"I think it's lesbian Valentine's night."
"Yeah... I noticed that."
"Look at my hoodie. I feel embarrassed being straight in here."
"No, this is... interesting."
We had just sat down at the bar when I began to strip off the pleather jacket and hoodie.
"No." he said. "Don't take it off. I want to go smoke a cigarette and see if anyone hits on you."
"I'm scared."
"You're a pussy."
"Don't leave me here!"
I was sitting in the center of the long bar top, feeling self-conscious and, up to that point, afraid to look around too much, afraid the women were looking for a sticker with my number on it.
"I'm afraid that if I leave, I'm going to miss something important." Frankie whispered.
"Like a massive dildo party?"
"... Yeah."
Behind our seats, 2 long-haired, nerdie lipstick lesbians held each other and caressed one another's butts. The one facing our direction seemed to be leering at us, or at me. Maybe it was because we looked like we wandered in the place by accident, or me somehow looking like I was searching for a lady valentine. I wasn't sure if it looked like I had been talked into cruising for a reluctant threesome myself, and now all I was capable of doing was sitting at the bar- stiffly assessing the situation.
There were a lot of women with short hair clad in earth tones, poker fire, and black space—a handful of men dressed in drag. Some of the women were sexy enough, but I couldn't get myself too excited about hitting on them. Sure a lesbian orgy looks hot in porn, but I may be doomed to be forever-boringly-heterosexual, in spite of the bucket list item where I get gay at least once, just to say I tried it.
After 11 hours of waiting on people at the convention center, I wasn't in any condition to wake up with a woman wanting to get-in on this nuptial. I wasn't in any condition to really experiment. The part of me that has been brainwashed by our porn-saturated society—into thinking I should do women on the side for both mine and his pleasure—was out of order.
But Frankie doesn't really want this either. "Too complicated." He says. "Threesomes never work out. They're only good for pornos and jerking off."
He sat facing the dancefloor while Dj Anita spun jungle on the tables above.
"These people are on some good fuckin X. Look at them."
Indeed their repetitive/rhythmic gyrations and atypical hand gestures indicated that there might be some drug use in the near vicinity, especially the guy who was engaged in an elaborate dance routine with a red balloon and the fire[less] gogo dancer on stage.
"This is pretty awesome!" Frankie exclaimed.
"Do you have an erection?"
"No. But I'm gonna go smoke and see what's happening outside. I feel like I need one right now."
I felt a hand on the back of my chair- brushing against the top of my fingers. I left it there, thinking it was one of those unconscious social interactions that only last for a brief moment, until I realized the hand wasn't leaving its place. Frankie would later describe a woman resembling a more attractive Serena Williams, who'd been mac'ing on the nerdie girls I mentioned earlier, and was for all appearances pretty successful at everything but reaching out to me.
"Don't leave me here! I want to smoke too!"
We went outside to the patio and sat down to find a good number of the hotter lesbians were congregating.
"I'd felt less nervous about the whole thing if we were sitting in a corner booth instead of at the middle of the bar, dressed like this." I was really interested to find out the results of the RSVP'd Speed Dating that took place at 9pm. But by that time, it looked like the choices had been all but made and obscurely engaged.
"I think I'm done anyhow." Frankie gulped the remainder of his Rogue Chocolate Stout and stubbed a rollie on the ground, while the tiny garage/smoking area filled to further capacity. "It's getting to be a little much. I'm feeling outnumbered all of a sudden."
As we walked home, he said:
"You were such a prude in there."
"What if you came back and found me making out with a hot chick? What would you have said?"
"I don't have to worry about it. You wouldn't do that. I could tell."
"What if I was making out with a really ugly chick then?"
* Unfortunately due to contractual obligations, we cannot divulge any further information on the event... until such time we deem fit to breach said agreement.
