The Transvestite Story
To inaugurate my blog to document scenes of Chicago thru the eyes of a New Kid In Town...this is an excerpt from a letter I wrote a friend of mine after I came to visit Chicago for my birthday in 1995. :) I recently found the letter and Lauren (the friend I was visiting in Chicago) wanted me to send the story of that bizarre night to her. I apologize for jumping back and forth between past and present tense. I'm a DJ, not a writer. - CS
I got to Chicago just in time to get caught in Tuesday morning rush hour traffic on the Kennedy expressway, 10/24/95. On the radio, they announced a surprise show at the Park West that night (Bruce Springsteen). I was slightly excited because even though I'm not a huge fan, I've never seen him live so I figured it would be cool. Hanging out with Lauren over the course of the day, I found out that other plans had been made so Bruce was out. Oh well, I roll right along.
We went to dinner with Laura's friend and neighbor Hope to celebrate our birthdays; Hope and I have the same birthday, 10/19. Here is the big difference between us: Hope won an EMMY award for TV production she did on the job at CBS. I am a DJ who works in accounting. EMMY-winner, BIG loser; gee, which one is which? Anyway, we leave the restaurant (home of the most OBNOXIOUS waiter in history - definitely a Mylanta moment) and we journey to a, um, club where the performers are all female impersonators ala RuPaul. I think, "Okay. I can hang. You don't see this everyday; it could be a blast." Turns out this was only the 3rd Tuesday they had been open and it was an OFF night. They didn't have their best, ahem, GIRLS working so it SUCKED. Lauren called her gay friend Scott (who totally reminded me of Dennis - he was SO fun!!!haha) and told him to come down. She said every other time they had been there, it was so packed you can't sit down. Well, there was a total of 7 people there including me, Lauren, Hope and Scott. We were outnumbered by chairs and shemales onstage. ANYWAY, two of the other 3 people left and we're sitting there hatin' it. Hope, being the workaholic that she is, pulls out some papers and starts going over them for lack of anything better to do. The shemale on stage comes down the steps (we made the mistake of sitting by the stage), grabs - no, SNATCHES the papers out of Hope's hands, throws them on the floor, waves her big MANLY finger in Hope's face and pops off with, "You do your homework at home, bitch!" in the middle of a number she's SUPPOSED to be onstage lip-synching to. Now, I have seen some sh!t, but THIS was beyond anything I had ever witnessed in my life; or so I thought. It got worse after we left.
Scott wanted to go dancing so we hit this club called Berlin. We get there and I have to pee, so I head for the ladies room. The sign on the door says ONLY ONE PERSON AT A TIME, PLEASE. That's strange, I said to myself but I didn't think twice about it because I really had to go. I come out to rejoin my party. Looking around, I asked why there were only men there. As they giggle, I realize: GAY! BAR! Panic mode gave way to immediate default calm down mode. I talked myself out of hyperventilating. It's cool. Me and Lauren and Hope are straight-no problem, right? I attempted to maintain my composure. Just as I got my nerves re-calibrated, I see why Scott wanted to come down to the club. Guess what? It's male dancer night. Now, I don't like men stripping in regular clubs - I for real don't wanna see men shakin' it for other men. EEWW!! Not that there's anything wrong with that if that's what you're into. It just so happens that I am NOT and I don't wanna see it. OBVIOUSLY, I am freaking out and not the least bit shy about it at this point. I wish someone was taping this whole night because I was a sight to see. At one point, Scott and I were talking about our first sexual encounters, the first time I ever had an orgasm, the first time we each had sex with someone we loved AND the funniest part of THIS part of the Berlin story (yes, there is more) was me in the middle of a GAY! BAR! screaming, "I'm frigid, okay. Why don't I just scream it here? All these men could not care less anyway." I was sleepy, sober, and ret ta go. IT GETS BETTER: Lauren and Scott go dance and me and Hope are standing around and we obviously stick out like a pair of sore @sses (no pun intended, really). NOW, it's showtime.
It's a known fact that gay bars are the best ones to go to dance - just ask Madonna. WELL, it's also the best place to see people who think they can dance. I see a pair of men primped up in short dresses, wigs, makeup, and the whole ball of lip wax. I know they spent too much time trying to look good and all I could say was, "GO girls!" The absolute BEST part of the WHOLE night was this 6'2" Spike Lee look-alike with short, twisty dreads out on the dance floor. He had on a tight, green patterned Lycra bicycle "tiny-tee," black hot pants, and a PURSE - just a goin' and a shakin' those hips and he was workin' it! "YOU GO! YOU GO!" I had a look of bewilderment, repulsion, and sick fascination etched onto my face. I'll demonstrate the dance for you when I see you again. I just threw my hands up. "HELL NO!" was the only appropriate response I could conjure. You should have seen him sashay over to the bar and lean over it to order a drink. I am SO glad the music was so loud he couldn't hear me cracking up to the point of crying and doubling over in pain because my stomach was hurting from laughing so hard (can you say HERNIA?). He probably would have taken that purse and whapped me upside the head with it like Ruth Buzzi. I'll have to save for the next letter what happened when one of the male dancers was trying to make me feel more comfortable by talking to me. You have NO idea how grossed out I was by that scantily clad, short, wrestler-body guy trying to talk to me with his, er, STUFF hanging out. And, I have to tell you about the movies (stag films?) they were showing on the TVs at the bar. All I can say is that I was most assuredly NOT in Kansas up in there...
I got to Chicago just in time to get caught in Tuesday morning rush hour traffic on the Kennedy expressway, 10/24/95. On the radio, they announced a surprise show at the Park West that night (Bruce Springsteen). I was slightly excited because even though I'm not a huge fan, I've never seen him live so I figured it would be cool. Hanging out with Lauren over the course of the day, I found out that other plans had been made so Bruce was out. Oh well, I roll right along.
We went to dinner with Laura's friend and neighbor Hope to celebrate our birthdays; Hope and I have the same birthday, 10/19. Here is the big difference between us: Hope won an EMMY award for TV production she did on the job at CBS. I am a DJ who works in accounting. EMMY-winner, BIG loser; gee, which one is which? Anyway, we leave the restaurant (home of the most OBNOXIOUS waiter in history - definitely a Mylanta moment) and we journey to a, um, club where the performers are all female impersonators ala RuPaul. I think, "Okay. I can hang. You don't see this everyday; it could be a blast." Turns out this was only the 3rd Tuesday they had been open and it was an OFF night. They didn't have their best, ahem, GIRLS working so it SUCKED. Lauren called her gay friend Scott (who totally reminded me of Dennis - he was SO fun!!!haha) and told him to come down. She said every other time they had been there, it was so packed you can't sit down. Well, there was a total of 7 people there including me, Lauren, Hope and Scott. We were outnumbered by chairs and shemales onstage. ANYWAY, two of the other 3 people left and we're sitting there hatin' it. Hope, being the workaholic that she is, pulls out some papers and starts going over them for lack of anything better to do. The shemale on stage comes down the steps (we made the mistake of sitting by the stage), grabs - no, SNATCHES the papers out of Hope's hands, throws them on the floor, waves her big MANLY finger in Hope's face and pops off with, "You do your homework at home, bitch!" in the middle of a number she's SUPPOSED to be onstage lip-synching to. Now, I have seen some sh!t, but THIS was beyond anything I had ever witnessed in my life; or so I thought. It got worse after we left.
Scott wanted to go dancing so we hit this club called Berlin. We get there and I have to pee, so I head for the ladies room. The sign on the door says ONLY ONE PERSON AT A TIME, PLEASE. That's strange, I said to myself but I didn't think twice about it because I really had to go. I come out to rejoin my party. Looking around, I asked why there were only men there. As they giggle, I realize: GAY! BAR! Panic mode gave way to immediate default calm down mode. I talked myself out of hyperventilating. It's cool. Me and Lauren and Hope are straight-no problem, right? I attempted to maintain my composure. Just as I got my nerves re-calibrated, I see why Scott wanted to come down to the club. Guess what? It's male dancer night. Now, I don't like men stripping in regular clubs - I for real don't wanna see men shakin' it for other men. EEWW!! Not that there's anything wrong with that if that's what you're into. It just so happens that I am NOT and I don't wanna see it. OBVIOUSLY, I am freaking out and not the least bit shy about it at this point. I wish someone was taping this whole night because I was a sight to see. At one point, Scott and I were talking about our first sexual encounters, the first time I ever had an orgasm, the first time we each had sex with someone we loved AND the funniest part of THIS part of the Berlin story (yes, there is more) was me in the middle of a GAY! BAR! screaming, "I'm frigid, okay. Why don't I just scream it here? All these men could not care less anyway." I was sleepy, sober, and ret ta go. IT GETS BETTER: Lauren and Scott go dance and me and Hope are standing around and we obviously stick out like a pair of sore @sses (no pun intended, really). NOW, it's showtime.
It's a known fact that gay bars are the best ones to go to dance - just ask Madonna. WELL, it's also the best place to see people who think they can dance. I see a pair of men primped up in short dresses, wigs, makeup, and the whole ball of lip wax. I know they spent too much time trying to look good and all I could say was, "GO girls!" The absolute BEST part of the WHOLE night was this 6'2" Spike Lee look-alike with short, twisty dreads out on the dance floor. He had on a tight, green patterned Lycra bicycle "tiny-tee," black hot pants, and a PURSE - just a goin' and a shakin' those hips and he was workin' it! "YOU GO! YOU GO!" I had a look of bewilderment, repulsion, and sick fascination etched onto my face. I'll demonstrate the dance for you when I see you again. I just threw my hands up. "HELL NO!" was the only appropriate response I could conjure. You should have seen him sashay over to the bar and lean over it to order a drink. I am SO glad the music was so loud he couldn't hear me cracking up to the point of crying and doubling over in pain because my stomach was hurting from laughing so hard (can you say HERNIA?). He probably would have taken that purse and whapped me upside the head with it like Ruth Buzzi. I'll have to save for the next letter what happened when one of the male dancers was trying to make me feel more comfortable by talking to me. You have NO idea how grossed out I was by that scantily clad, short, wrestler-body guy trying to talk to me with his, er, STUFF hanging out. And, I have to tell you about the movies (stag films?) they were showing on the TVs at the bar. All I can say is that I was most assuredly NOT in Kansas up in there...
posted by Chicago Socialista | 4:04 PM
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