Project fag hag

It was time for me to go to the bathroom, something I had been dreading, since the bar was so goddamn crowded. I was happy to discover there was a women's room here in the first place, so I headed toward it. When I got there, the door was wide open and at least five men were inside peeing in the solid steel toilets (that aren't made for actual butts to sit on) and the sink. "Um ... " I said to one, making eye contact and pointing to the "Women" sign. He shot me a look that said it all in two seconds: Look, sister, this is a gay bar. The sign is just for show, so count your blessings. I peered into the toilets and saw that none of them had been flushed, probably all night. I immediately exited, thinking to myself what my old science teacher used to say when we asked if we could go use the bathroom: "Cross your legs and think 'dry.'"

I went back out to hug my new friends goodbye. "See you later, honey!" one said. "Stay hot!" the other said.

I emerged into the street with an added spring to my step, fueled with the confidence that I had the face of Angelina Jolie and the body of Sophia Loren. I skipped down the stairs at the Castro Muni station. The train was full, save one row of three seats. Two cute skateboarder dudes were on each side, with their boards taking up the middle seat. I glanced at them and fluttered my eyelashes, hoping that they would clear the way for me. They just stared at me blankly and went back to talking.

Oh, well. Back to reality.

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