larger than life chix, amazons, completely self-possessed, black bobs

by phil on Saturday Aug 25, 2007 10:57 AM

There's this club I go to in Austin frequently, where half of the guys are probably gay. If not, they dress really well, in many cases, much better than the girls there. The club has some sofas, and I find myself sometimes there, in a lull, nursing a beer bottle, pondering social dynamics.

Recently, and this has come up in a few other situations, I've been thinking about these larger-than-life girls, these amazons. I'm sitting on the sofa, and they are tall. They can out-drink me. They can stay up later than me, maybe up till 5am, able to do cocaine at 4am, and still show up for their deskjob the next day, and repeat this 3-4 nights a week, without catching a cold and remaining beautiful at the same time.

I notice their accentuated calves above their high heels, thinking their calves as stronger than mine. I wonder what would happen if they decided to kick me in the face.

There was this coterie of these amazons who had a couple gay friends, and just danced together the whole night, talking to nobody else. In fact, I think I was the only one outside of their group to actually talk to them. They were there for two-and-a-half hours. They were like the equivalent of those paid dancers in the cages.

This one I talked to was actually pretty short, thin, and had a black bob like from Pulp Fiction. Even though I could tell she was older than thirty, she had a very childish look on her face. She had both extremes of maturity and nubileness that set her onto a weird level of unattainability. I'm not one to think, usually, that anybody is out of anybody's league. However, as I tracked her on the dance floor, watching her dance, watching her keep a slightly larger wall of personal space than other people around her, I vicariously inhabited what I imagined to be worlds uninhabitable by me.

Worlds uninhabitable by me. This isn't about rich vs. poor. When I was school, there would be some student's dorm rooms that you'd enter, and they'd be so rounded out with a person's identity that you could never imagine yourself living their life. I'll give two examples. One room has a turntable, stacks of vinyl, bongs and other drug paraphernalia strewn in random places, an Indian rug, multiple black lights, Bob Marely posters, a tree, no table, instead a folded futon mattress, a laptop on a coffee table on the side, and the smell of incense enveloping everything. When I walked into this guy's room, I'd think, there's no way I could live like this for my entire life. This guy even has a bow and arrow so he can play with it in the grass. And he has a pomegranate.

Then flash into another girl's room, and it's got on one wall a hundred photographs of her friends. Hanging from the ceiling are colored cloths creating a cloud-like shape. She has a dresser that she brought from home (since the one given by school is not large enough) with so many different outfits that look like costumes. A boa hangs from one of the racks. Beside the dresser are like five cups for colored pencils and pens. Then next to it, are some canvases, paintbrushes, and other assorted creative tools. By the door are like six pairs of crazy boots. She doesn't have the standard square pillow, but rather a long, tubular, leopard print one she brought from home. And her bed cover is fake pink fur.

So back to the girl with the black bob. I imagined her, when she left the club, returning to some alien world that I'll never be a part of. And that aspect of her towered over me. Even if I made more money than her and was more educated than her, I felt out-classed.

Her and her friends exuded power. They dominated the dance floor. The only thing I told her was that she reminded me of the girl with a black bob in Mulholland Drive. But instead of being stuck-up and pushing me away, she smiled and asked me my name. This only added to her aura. In addition to all her strength, she was also merciful to the peasants who dared speak to the Queen.

One of her other friends was tall, with blonde hair, and wore a beanie with long strings hanging from each side. She looked like a pro snowboarder, and carried herself aloofly like one. She was dancing and waving her head around like she cared about nothing in the world. Carelessness... that ultimate expression of power.

And then I thought, "What's the point of these girls?" They're so above and beyond. They don't need anybody. They have no weakness.

And they danced, and they looked aggressive. And then I imagined them holding spears, ruling the world.


Philip Dhingra said on August 29, 2007 11:24 PM:

This has been a pretty good post. I can tell based on the feedback I've gotten via IM and in person. This has inspired me to re-enable comments on my site.

sam said on October 18, 2007 1:45 AM:

well-written! i think in austin though, you should not count out the possibility that they were post-op trannies. and if they're not...well, maybe i should start coming to these clubs with you, ha. at the end of the day, these girls may find themselves still looking for a significant other who surpasses them and makes them feel 'safe'...such seems to be the trend of the female psyche.

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