Saturday Night--ALIVE!!!!! UPDATED WITH PICTURES!!

Saturday was a wonderful day; not a cloud in the sky, and for an April in Louisiana, unusually chilly. The slight nip in the air gave us a perfect excuse to have a few adult beverages outside by the pool at a friend's house. The drink of choice was Miller Lite and a few well placed Heinekens were being consumed. First by the day shift, about 4 of us, and then by our relief, another 4 or 6 who came by later. Everyone was having a good time, which is not so odd.

Around 4:00pm, my phone vibrates. I have a smart-phone and have made the decision that for all of the 7 people who still use instant messaging services, I will just use my phone. I have what is called a "3rd Party Application" which allows me to be signed in to AOL Instant Messenger, gtalk, from Google, and mySpace IM all at the same time. The vibration indicates I have received an instant message from a friend. It was "Bob" wondering what we were up to for the night. No plans have been made but it was shaping up to be the normal run of the mill night. Then he tells me that he is going to the Central Station (a prominent gay bar) for a Drag Show. If you need the hint at this point, Bob is gay. Not your Rock Hudson "in the closet" type, but the Project Runway "I don't even own a closet" type. He tells me that he told one of my other friends about it and that he had politely declined. Well, I turn to my friend, "Luke", and I declare, "Wow, Luke, you didn't want to go down to the gay bar for the drag show. I can't believe that." This was said in such way as to indicate I certainly could believe that.

Well we explain what the hell we are talking about and a funny thing happens. Collectively, as a group the mood changes. It is palpable. The air is charged as one by one everyone looks at one another and shrugs their shoulders. Once the non-verbal cues are made, one of us says, "You know, it might be fun." And, like clockwork, everyone agrees. No one ever agrees on anything. As a group we can't even figure out fries or onion rings. So I'll be damned if we don't decide to go check out the drag show.

The group splits up to get ready, because honestly, who wants to dress nattily for that. You are already going to be shown up by 6'7" men in evening gowns, you don't need to go making it worse with your Skid Row Tour '87 tshirt and flip flops. By the time we meet back up everyone is sufficiently dressed and sufficiently gassed so that we don't have some sort of hetero freak-out and get beat up by a 275 lb man in a dress (more on that later). The Central Station is pretty self explanatory. It is located in the former Central Train Station; there are still tracks and trains all around. Inside there are several rooms, a country music room, a dance disco room, and upstairs where there is just a bar and the stage room for the drag show. It's dark, but accented with any color stage light you could find. A Japanese child would have a seizure just being inside the place. Drinks are quite reasonable, and the service is top-fucking-notch. You rarely wait around. So enters this group of 9: 8 straight kids, some with their girlfriends, and our chaperone, Bob.

There is a $5 cover for the show and we gladly pay it, because we don't want to get this far to wuss out over a cover charge. This is when we find out we have come for a momentous occasion. We are in attendance for the 2nd annual Miss Gay Shreveport America pageant. Of course, as you know, the best drag queen from this area will go on to vie for the Louisiana state crown and then for the coveted crown of Miss Gay America. To me this indicates that there might be the possibility of a Mr. Gay America, which I imagine is a Zac Efron lookalike contest. We settle in near the back of the room and wait for the show to begin. Then a drag queen named Dominique, our MC for the evening, begins the show and introduces all the distinguished guests, including the current and reigning Miss Gay Shreveport, Miss Gay Louisiana and, in what I can only imagine is a huge coup, Miss Gay America herself. Himself? We get past the pronoun problem by calling them women. It is easier for everyone involved.

This is a fairly accurate representation.

Soon the show begins in earnest with a lip syncing drag queen dancing and doing an obviously well-rehearsed dance routine. We came to find out this is a hallmark of the Miss Gay America pageants. It's all lip syncing and dance numbers. On a side note, men are used to women being in better shape than they are. In our culture it is almost necessary for them to be so and I couldn't agree with the societal dictum more than I currently do. For those of us who sit on the computer all day and then don't do anything, we are used to men looking better than ourselves also. It's a fact of life. But when you see a man who is in better shape than most any man, or woman, you have seen, well, it is a kick in the balls. I think the hallmark of human progress in a culture is when one man can comment that another has the best looking legs in the room, and no one punches you in the face. That just wouldn't happen in your grandfather's time.

The question and answer portion of the contest begins and man, oh man. Obviously there are some contestants who have done this before and those who haven't. The one's who haven't look like their mind is being sucked into the vacuum of space. Whether they are just scared, or chemically unable to respond to simple commands, they look like deer in headlights. Then you have the veterans who answer their questions and sashay down the catwalk like it's their job. And who knows: maybe it is. The key to this whole thing is you never know the full story on anything.

At some point Luke and I are at the bar, across the room from our group of friends, and Miss Gay America, who is holding court with the Q&A's, begins to verbally berate some prick who keeps talking. Perhaps he is making snide remarks, I don't know. So immediately Luke and I are thinking that she is yelling at our group because while not being rude, we sure as hell aren't quiet. We turn to the group of lesbians (Butch, not Lipstick) standing near us and ask if they know who Miss Gay America is yelling at. Turns out she isn't mad at our group, but that just may be because she hasn't noticed us. Honestly, that has to be the scariest thing ever: having a 275 lb man in a sequined gown and Marie Antoinette hair dress you down for being rude at the drag show. Just typing that sentence blew my mind.

Well come to find out, we are just as flaky in the gay bar as we are at our regular haunt, because we decide to go downstairs for a bit, check out the rest of the place, and we never make it back up to the show.

So I don't know who Miss Gay Shreveport America 2008 is. Which, I know, is anti-climatic. I can only imagine that whomever she is, she has a custom made evening gown on, her penis tucked into an unimaginably uncomfortable position, and the most flamboyant attitude since Liberace and Elton John bedazzled a poodle. My point in telling this story is to emphasize just how far out of our element we all really were. My group of friends and I do not normally waltz into anything that might make us even the slightest bit uncomfortable. We won't even go to restaurants that we have not been to without a large amount of discussion with the eventual outcome always being to go to a place that we have all undoubtedly eaten at twice that week. Let's just say that an all gay, drag queen review is a bit off of our radar. I can, however, say with complete confidence that it was one of the best times we have ever had as a group and as individuals.

UPDATE: I post these actual photos of the evening without permission. So suck it, lawdogs.