I've been meaning to write this post since Sunday, but school seems to be stealing any free time I have recently. So finally here goes.
I wanted to tell you about Saturday night, when the Purples finally went out. Now, if it was up to Mrs., we'd probably be out every weekend, dancing our little feet away. Left to my own devices, I would leave the house as little as possible and entertain myself with movies (none illegally downloaded, of course!), TV, Internet and chocolate. But concessions have to be made, and this weekend we went to the one gay club in Helsinki. Being the only club means it has to cater to all tastes in the community. Which translates into a bottom floor of dance music for the boys and their straight lady friends, and a loud pop/rock schlager Eurovisiony second floor for the girls.
Apparently that was the last evening the top floor is open before they start renovating it (and I sincerely hope they're investing in some heavy duty air ventilators, as the cigarette smoke and the added bonus of fake machine smoke gave me the nausea of a lifetime). They were celebrating this upcoming demolition by dressing all the bar staff in white overalls (disappointingly, they were all men, BTW), and at some point during the night there was a very anticlimactic pause in the music, and somebody put a huge hammer through the wall. Now, I guess some people knew about this being a demolition party, because there was this one dyke there with a hard hat on and a tool belt, and ohmygod, I swear there was an aprox. 40cm long mean looking black dildo hanging from that belt, balls and all.
Armed with a couple of new friends, Mrs. Purple danced happily upstairs with the dykes and down with the fags, while I watched, sipping on my cider and slowly suffocating on the smoke. I have to say, I was pleased to note that despite any politics, Diva remains a recurring guest star at any self respecting gay club.
After a night of frolics, we finally started heading out around 3am (3am! can you imagine me, out of the house, at 3am!). Of course, there are no trams at 3am. Or metros, or buses. So it's either wait 30 minutes for a taxi or 20 for a night bus. We picked the night bus. And so we waited with the masses in the freezing cold (below freezing, actually. Try minus 16ish for size), when at last the bus came and everybody tried to get inside at the same time. luckily we did manage a seat, which made the next 20 minutes waiting for the bus to fill up and start moving much more pleasant.
After realizing the seat in front of us was taken by a dyke in a hard hat (gun in the first act!), we spent the rest of the trip trying to figure out if her...accessory...was borrowed or if she had just managed to hide it somewhere. When she got off on the same stop as us (3rd act coming up!), we saw the distinctive ballsy bulge in her coat, and the end of the beast dangling from under her knee length overcoat. The damn thing was still hanging on her tool belt. For protection maybe?
And so, happy and tired, we drifted towards our local kebab shop (that's a shawarma stand, for the non-Europeans) to get some munchies, and then at last arrived at home. After a brief discussion and much protest, it turned out it was my turn to take the dog out. By the time I got back and was finally snug in bed, it was 5am. Naturally, Sunday was spent half dazed, watching TV with the sound down low and avoiding bright lights. I'm too old for this.
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