15 July 2012

Lessons Learnt with a Cock in my Face

Okay, okay, fine, I admit it. I actually figured out these lessons after the cocks were long gone, and to be perfectly accurate, none of the cocks ever got more than six feet or so away from my face (still, though, I found myself occasionally leaning backwards in case of some sort of spontaneous spray. Perhaps I still do not understand how penises work as well as I thought I did.)

I spent a few hours Friday night at a male “exotic dance” club, as part of a bachelorette party. I always have two thoughts when invited out to any sort of social event, in the following order:

#1: I have been invited somewhere! People like me! I am cool!

#2 Oh FUCK.

One of my biggest challenges in life is being in a situation where I don’t know what to expect. Please understand that if I ever ask you repeatedly about the weather forecast, or a building layout, or most importantly, what to wear, I am not doing it to be mundane or shallow. The more information I can gather on a situation before diving in, the less risk of sensory overload or surprise factor meltdown. When I say that I don’t know what to wear, what I mean to say is that the thought of wearing something that makes me stand out (by wearing the “wrong” thing) gives me Carrie-like high school flashbacks (the parts where she gets bullied, not the parts where she goes psycho), and that I am not competent on my own to dress myself.  And if you can tell me what the room will look like before I get there, I can be saved the anxiety during introductions of trying to map out the exits and best places to stand to avoid traffic flow.  Knowledge is power.

Having had these feelings for years, as a proto-emo teenager (I hated myself before it was cool), I decided that the problem must be that I disliked people. After all, I disliked parties, and the point of parties is to interact with people. Clearly, I was a misanthrope, rather than just socially awkward. Friday night, this was put to the test – and I was cheerfully proven wrong.

After a minor meltdown where I decided that I hated everything in my closet, would never be a real girl, and should move to a secluded mountain and become a nun, I managed to get myself dressed, out the door, and on a bus headed in the correct direction. One terrifying comedy festival crowd later – complete with protestors and loud people and other terrifying things – I ended up at the door to Montreal’s finest male strip joint, where I narrowly avoided another teary-eyed attack when the doorman took away my water. Look, I understand that you are worried about me smuggling in alcohol, and that you would prefer I purchase one of your $7 bottles of water instead, but for a girl who compulsively drinks water when anxious, please understand that it’s like you just took away my security blanket. On the plus side, I now own a water bottle featuring the silhouette of a naked male torso, which I am never throwing out.

THANK GOD that I ran into two of my favourite people outside of the club, and did not have to walk in alone, since I would have ended up standing awkwardly nearby  for ten minutes before getting back on the bus headed home.

Inside, it was more or less what I had feared – loud music, attractive and squealing girls in short dresses. Yes, yes – I am generally partial to attractive girls. Just not when they squeal. There is nothing like pretty women in sexy clothing getting all excited and giggly together to make me feel like I’m an alien wearing overalls to prom.

Throughout the evening, while I blushed and muttered things and stared at the floor, I repeatedly and somewhat whiningly complained that I don’t like naked men. Now, this is not really true. I do prefer naked women, and I do not really get the aesthetic appeal of cocks, but I can fully appreciate a nice set of abs and a nice bum, so not all was lost on me. What I should have said, but which is harder to explain considering I go to parties where people get up to all sorts of shenanigans five feet away from me, is that I am not a voyeur. Looking at people in general makes me uncomfortable. I like to be watched, but I have an unholy fear that someone will watch me when I am watching, and I will react in the wrong way, and everyone will hate me forever. So, of course, in order to avoid reacting in the wrong way, I pre-emptively contorted my faces into a variety of expressions showing discomfort and horror – clearly the socially acceptable reaction to people having fun. Also, every time one of the dancers came near our table, I ducked behind my friend so the men would not see me studiously avoiding eye contact with their pricks and take offense.

Nudity aside, loud music and other loud sounds can be scary for me. Rather than finding them simply annoying, my brain seems to process them as pain. I have actually publically burst into tears, as an adult, on more than one occasion, because a balloon pops nearby. It feels like someone firing a gun inside my brain. The plus side to this is that I can hear things like electronics that have been left on or people whispering on the other side of the room. The downside is that any ambient noise, such as the buzz of a crowded room, makes it almost impossible to follow a conversation, and loud noise like club music actually causes unpleasant physical sensations and severe anxiety.

So there you have it. Loud noises, naked men, happy women who inadvertently remind me that I struggle both with being happy and being a woman – a recipe for disaster.

Except... it wasn’t.

Yes, I was super uncomfortable, especially at the beginning, which is generally to be expected of me. But it was not until the end of the night that I realized something exciting. I had fun. HOLY SHIT. I was sad to be leaving! I was fairly ambivalent about leaving the loud music, and the naked men. But I was sad to be leaving the excellent company of women who interest me and look out for me and are fun to be around and talk with.

I... I don’t hate people! I like people! I like people who are kind and genuine, and have rich and fascinating lives, and who see my eccentricities as simply aspects of who I am. I like people who push me to go outside of my comfort zone and experience new things and who are supportive of my need to balance space and quiet with excitement. I like the people I spent time with Friday night J I don’t dislike parties because I dislike people; I dislike parties because I like people, and the very atmosphere of most parties makes it difficult for me to interact with them in a way that is meaningful to me. I like people, and despite my own best efforts to convince myself otherwise going in, I liked Friday night.

Next time, though, let’s hang out over tea and soft jazz?

With great love,
K8

1 comment:

  1. As usual you made me smile ..... you are a hoot as you work your way through all this .......thing called life.

    Enjoy the adventure as much as you can.......and if you find any answers .. come tell me ok??? i still struggle with most of what you describe... le sigh

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