Tuesday, December 2, 2008
STOMP it out
Forget krumping, popping and locking, there's a new street dance on the block: the tranny stomp.
I went out the other night with my roommates (me going out, weird I know) to what Kolin described as the freshest club in town. He claimed it played the best music and everyone was there to dance, have fun and be free, or something like that. Oh, and the club was called Ohm, as in peace and meditation. I was hesitant but agreed to go, it sounded like an alright place after all.
We pulled up to the spot and found a small crowd of decent looking 20-somethings gathered in front, a fair sign. Confused after not finding a sign reading "Ohm" however, I turned to Kolin and asked if we were at the right place. We definitely were, and to avoid making a short story long it turned out Ohm was actually Homme as in man in French. Yep, it was a gay club. Kolin swore he had no idea, as if the multiple rainbow flags proudly hung in every window weren't a clue.
There was actually a good mix of people, the music was something new and there were a few precious treasures on the dance floor. At the beginning of the night we spotted a broad-shouldered babe at the bar, the true definition of a hot tranny mess. I'm talking off-centered 80% off clearance Halloween wig from Wal-mart, bifocal glasses, potbelly, smeared makeup, the works. She stuck to one corner and danced her signature three steps forward, three steps back for an hour or so. Then like a flash she darted from the club. Luckily however, a new tranny entered the scene and stomped her way into our lives. Especially Kolins, perhaps because she was his tranny doppleganger. Stompy ungracefully made her way to our circle, hoping to dance with us, so we let her and boy, did she stomp. Pounding those big feet of hers to the floor as if killing a giant cockroach. Subtle moves that we all caught on to. I would sure feel bad if she were actually a woman.
Meanwhile Tranny #1 made her second appearance of the night, only this time she changed from her slinky black number into a pair of white capri pants and shoes with straps up to the knees. Same wig, same bifocals, same potbelly, same tragic mess. Sadly she was still alone and in the corner. We thought she came up with a new dance move but turned out the constant wall lean and toe touch was just her adjusting the shoes and straps.
We had a fun evening dancing but more than anything it was a people watching feast.
Note to self: if we ever go back to Ohm/Homme do not wear flannel shirt. Lesbians will constantly confuse you for one of them.