I went out to a party called Kooky Super Gay last night. It was located in Tempe, which is an area of Sydney otherwise known as “out near the airport,” otherwise known as no place worth visiting for any reason other than they’re throwing some one-off gay dance party for alternaboys and their lesbian friends. It was fun. I went with my friend David, a lovely UK native who shares my propensity for wine drinking, pot smoking, and Madonna obsessing. I needed a night out on my own, with a friend, because the weather was gorgeous and I was feeling social.
The party took place at Jets Sports Club. Australia has tons of sports clubs, many of them with a lawn specifically tailored for lawn bowling (fjkdlfjadklfjasklfjadslfk!), so they’re also called Bowls Clubs. They’re awesome. They have full dining services, bars, outdoor patios, a dance floor, a commons area and a smattering of slot machines (or ‘pokies,’ as they’re called in Australia). Guests were encouraged to dress up in whatever the hell they wanted, and the club had been decorated with cheap streamers and pinatas. The DJ was playing from a folding table. It was basically like the school dance in ‘Sixteen Candles’ divided by the prom in ‘Carrie’ multiplied by a cast of extras from a John Waters movie. David and I smoked a joint on the nearby marina after our first beer (I think we eventually drank at least five apiece, hence today’s fuzziness), and when we stumbled back onto the floor, the DJ played an extended mix of ‘Magic Man’ by Heart.
I almost screamed like a 13-year-old girl. I mean, there I was, stoned, writhing happily on a dance floor to one of Heart’s best songs while surrounded by weird alterna-gay boys and lesbians wearing harnesses. Perfection.
