Going fishing in gay bars

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April 4, 2013 by fatcai

How excited I was when my best friend finally realised he was gay. Every month at some wonderful shitfaced drunk party he would pull me aside…”Nicky, you know what? I think I am like 90% into girls but 10% into guys.”, the next month “You know what? I think I am like 80% into girls and 20% into guys.” It was a very tedious time but he got there in the end.

And since my best friend came out and I ended up being some kind of fag hag type, I have developed an overactive gaydar which is frighteningly accurate to the point where I know people are gay even before they do themselves. Also I seem to end up living in apartments that come with built-in gay flatmates that smoke lots of cigarettes which is also something I really enjoy doing.

So anyway..gay bars. and fishing.

So last year I met up with French roommate in Brussels. Despite the fact that Brussels is a truly glorious city and the weather was wonderful at the time, we decided that getting stoned and eating baguette with salty butter while watching That 70’s Show was a much better idea than any of the culture and scenery that the Capital of Europe has to offer. As it became dark though we decided to venture out and discover Brussels finest gayery in Rue du Marche au Charbon with me as the wingwoman.

French roommate is very beautiful, he doesn’t even need a wingwoman. Everyone he meets falls in love with him and of course so did the owner of the first bar we stumbled into. This is how fishing works: I am the fisherwoman, French roommate is the tasty little worm and the big juicy Bar Owner is an example of a fishy getting hooked. Free drinks for French Roommate. Free drinks for the accompanying fag hag. Without even ordering, drinks kept appearing in front of us like magic. We got shitfaced and formed a nice group with the barmen that were just finishing their shifts plus the other guys that they had decided they would be hooking up with that night.

Bar owner took us a to a club owned by his friend. This is a proper fancy downtown Brussels nightclub that we would never have had a chance of getting into under other circumstances, firstly because we wouldn’t have been able to afford the door charge, secondly we are just people who sit around getting stoned all day and have clothes with holes in them. This club was all white and shiney with red fur and diamonds and a catwalk through the middle that people were dancing on. Free drinks for the juicy worm. Free drinks for the accompanying fag hag.

Bar Owner took the whole group back to his amazing apartment. I don’t know if it was actually amazing but there was a shit ton of vodka and drugs that were being very generously distributed to the juicy worms and the accompanying fag hag. A man from Senegal who could only speak French and English with his hookup from Belarus who could only speak Belarussian and German. Didn’t seem to pose a problem to anyone and I learnt a lot about politics and opression in Belarus that I had forgotten by the next morning because of the shit ton of vodka and weed that were generously distributed into me by the hungry fishes.

Oh but then I had to kick ass on the way home. Like literally kick someone’s ass. On the long tram ride home at stupid o clock in the morning or the afternoon or whenever it was but it was definitely still dark, two guys tried to start talking to me which I am never in the mood for because I already have a boyfriend plus public transport is only there to ignore people, read books and get drunk on. I pretended not to speak any language at all so as not to have to communicate but then they followed me off the tram and right to the door of my friend’s house I was staying at, which thankfully wasn’t very far from the stop. Just before I went in the door of the building they turned off to the side not without one grabbing a feel of my boob. So I started all Belfast on them, they ran away, I ran after them and literally kicked the boob-touching one in the ass. My foot. His ass. He deserved so much more pain. Tit for tat. Tit for ass. No way. Tit for broken kneecaps is more fair. Men are hideous beasts.

So anyway, fishing in gay bars. There has to be some kind of secret perk to living with a miserable title such as fag hag and there is: free drinks for the fag hag wingwoman!

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