droogs

We went to that fetish night in Lowell on Saturday; that was pretty interesting. I hadn't been to a fetish night in so long that I forgot that using your bitch face doesn't keep people from talking to you the way it does in goth clubs.

First this Marilyn Manson-looking dude (full-body latex, white contacts and fangs, no less) comes up and tries to start a conversation with me in the most brain-damaged way possible. I could not make this shit up:

"Your hair is nice. Is it blue-black?"

"... What? Oh. No. It's dark brown."

"Oh. I like your... face... thing..." (he means the veil on my hat) and gestures towards his face.

"Thanks."

Awkward silence.

"OK bye." Yes. OK bye. Can I stress the fact that this guy was a fucking GROWNUP? I have met six-year-olds with more sophisticated social skills.

So he leaves. And then this other guy comes over and at least makes some effort to talk to me like I am a person with interests and ideas. But then he fucking ruins any goodwill he had by saying, "Hey, my friend was looking at you, and he has a really big foot fetish, and he was wondering if he could give you a foot massage." Well you can give your friend this note, it says "Will you go to the dance with me? Please circle one: yes no maybe" and tell him to put it in my backpack when he's done. If he is too much of a pussy to hit on me like a normal person and buy me a drink and figure out what my deal is (NOTWITHSTANDING the fact that I am obviously there with a gentleman caller) then I don't think it is the best idea for him to be touching my feet.

This all happened in the seven-minute span of Shawn going to the bar to get us drinks. Lesson learned. Next time Shawn leaves me alone at this club, I will ask him to piss in a circle around me first.