[continuation of my previous entry]
The art scene got old by the time 7pm came around. To bid a fond adieu to the gallery and its open bar goodness (and since we weren’t allowed to bring any of the free booze out of the premises), Susan slyly hid my plastic cup of cranberry vodka and her Ketel One with Diet Coke under her coat as we slipped by and giggled at the guardians of the front door. Unfortunately, Vu was unaware of the “no to-go” policy and tried to exit without proper booze concealment and, therefore, got his stash tragically sequestered.
Before we proceeded to the California Theater to watch CineQuest’s closing film, Mother, we stopped at Fahrenheit lounge to replenish our bodies with food that had actual nutritional value. But, of course, while there we ordered more cocktails. I had a very fruity lychee martini and something else, which I no longer recall at this point. Neither do I remember the drinks of my 2 companions, nor the food we ordered. (As you can tell, alcoholic amnesia had already kicked in.) After some very speedy consumption, we headed out to see the movie, which turned out to be quite engaging. Sitting — or in Susan’s case, sleeping — through it was also a good way of sobering up from all the pre-movie madness we engaged in.
By the time the ending credits were scrolling up the silver screen, we were like rejuvenated boxers ready for more rounds of rigorous rigmarole. Stepping out of the theater, Vu purposefully directed us to the first club we chanced upon, Brix, on 349 South First St. The nightclub had a nice exterior and there was a small line at the door, so it looked inviting and promising. However, the very first step I took past the entrance, I knew something was amiss. While San Jose is often referred to as “Man Jose” because of its population’s lopsided ratio of more guys than girls (in nightlife venues, at least), this place was practically packed with only dudes. Mere seconds past the front door, I realized Vu had just led me to my first LGBT nightclub. (That fool is slowly peeking out of his closet, methinks.)
Not dismissing any opportunity to have a good time, we lingered for a bit, sipping our drinks while wondrously enamored with the unfamiliar vibe and scene. I ordered my favorite drink, an apple martini, taking advantage of the only place where I won’t get ridiculed for ordering such a cocktail.
At some point, some dude ended up dancing shirtless on the dance floor as his companion playfully twirled the pink polo shirt he previously had on. Such a different ambiance indeed. (The music was actually pretty good, too.) All this was happening, by the way, while Susan was lost in another world: She apparently found her calling as a fag hag, as one guy who just moved to San Jose from the East Coast fell in love with her at first sight and proceeded to corral her within his yearning arms for most of our time at the club. (He added her on Facebook right then and there.)
Obviously, I was not going to meet or dance with any viable ladies around here, so we decided to move on after the novelty of the scene wore off. The night was still young, after all, and there were lots more debauchery to be had.
