It's the End of the World as we know it....

[Hello kittens! Double post today because I love you. And also recapping a whole month in one post equaled holy fucking impossible. Cheers, bitches.]

Twice in my life I’ve discovered places where people mysteriously fall in love with me. I can’t explain this phenomenon. It could be the perfect lighting, the amount of alcohol consumed or just plain gypsy magic. The first was a hallway in my best friend’s house, right outside the bathroom. That was the summer I got my MIP, started smoking cloves and learned how to break hearts like a real motherfucker. The second was a secluded beach in the Rattlesnake Wilderness Area. That year I painted my soul purple and swore I’d love you forever. We all know how that turned out.

I can’t say for certain, but I may have discovered a third. Before I discuss the pros and cons of being elbow-deep in a toilet tank, let’s backtrack.

Considering Friday was the end of the world (at least as we know it) I intended to go out with a bang. I loosely organized a meet-up for the PDX Autostraddlers. Ok, mostly I told people where I would be on Friday and expected them to show up. Friend and I rolled into Bar of the Gods (BOG) just after 7pm and quickly determined that there were no other lesbians present. Solution? Obviously we played a game of Scrabble. Halfway through my triple word score rampage, three potential friends arrived.

Friend: Those look like people who are looking for us…

Me: Yeah, but maybe not.

Friend: Want to discuss Autostraddle awkwardly loud and see if they come over?
Me: Nah, let’s just avoid eye contact. That seems like the best way to make friends.

And it totally worked. Two drinks and 5 minutes later they approached us and very subtly asked: “So are you two lesbians?” Yes, excellent. Thus began the whirlwind four days I’m fairly sure I barely survived. PBR, thong-clad Santa, brunch mimosas, spilled whiskey eggnog, Dazed and Confused, Fireball and cider, Fuck the Dealer, Ziggy Stardust, I-Hop Christmas rattle, Feliz Navidachos and finally sleeping. Finally showering and feeding myself and remembering how to be a real human being.

But it all started Friday night at the Local Lounge.

Friend: Loca Lounge? Like craaaazay Lounge?

Me: No, Local. Like in this neighborhood. Well ok, it’s not in this neighborhood, but some neighborhood somewhere.

Like I said, there are certain places on this planet where people are strangely drawn to me. I’m 90% sure the Local Lounge is one of them. Maybe it was my freshly pressed bandana. Or my terrible dancing. Or my lip-syncing to Call Your Girlfriend on the dance floor… I have never received so many compliments or free drinks in my life. Seriously, I was tempted to never leave the house again because I’d reached the pinnacle of my popularity. It’s all downhill from here.

So there I am, waiting in line for the bathroom. The door opens and the girl inside starts to explain that the toilet isn’t flushing. My rural Montana sensibilities kick into gear, and suddenly I’m elbow-deep in the toilet tank reattaching the chain to the rubber stopper. Aforementioned girl stares at me, mouth agape and says “Holy shit. That was so…”

Disgusting? Potentially dangerous?

“…Sexy.”

Times in my life basic plumbing know-how has earned me a compliment: 1. I don’t know guys. I’m going to have to visit the Local Lounge again to see if this was a fluke happening or a repeatable phenomenon. Maybe it had everything to do with the Mayan apocalypse, or the proximity of the moon to the sun and astral currents or tiny gypsy fairies. I don’t know, but I hope you all had a lovely December 21^st. I’m kind of glad we’re still here.

All my love, you bunch of creeps.

-b