twenty-something

So Rutland has a gay bar. And it is called Shooka Dooka's.

This isn't Rutland's first gay bar, mind you. There's a vague history of them in the minds of many Vermonters. I remember one when I was coming out in high school -- I can never remember the name of it, but I do remember going, once, to some "T Dance" on a Sunday my senior year. I lurked on the edge of the dance floor as I watched my friends dance (this was before I had truly discovered the joys of alcohol). A handsome guy came up to me as the place was closing. He said he'd been watching me all night (I was oblivious). He gave me his number. He looked a bit like Val Kilmer.

I called him a week or so later. We met for coffee downtown. He revealed he had mental problems and lived in an apartment above somebody's garage. He was quirky, but probably fuckable, but I was innocent, so I just had him bring me home and that was that. I don't remember his name.

Back to Shooka Dooka's -- I went twice over Thanksgiving with Greg, both Thursday and Friday nights. We made a pact before we descended on Rutland that we would go, so when I picked him up T-Day Night, it was on our agenda. We drove by once, twice, maybe three times (still not a lady). Finally, I parked and we embarked on our Rutland gay bar adventure.

Admittedly, I reverted back to my high school self. I was nervous and a little freaked. Why? I go to the bar here in Burlington now without batting an eye.

The bar itself was a letdown. The space itself is surprisingly nice. Well, not nice, but it has potential and character. It's big, and there are many different facets -- two bars, a couple different rooms, a big dance floor, a live-music stage, many televisions. It was obviously an old Rutland redneck bar, but now it had a rainbow flag or two. I wanted to buy the building, move it to a city, sink a million into it, and open it as my own little gay bar. But, yeah, back to reality...

Night one was uneventful. The "crowd," though small, was colorful. Among them: A stern-but-friendly lesbian bartender. A semi-cute obvious regular in a ball cap and slight southern drawl, who harassed said bartender by telling her he was drunk enough to "eat her poontang" (Greg, incidentally, became smitten with this charmer and we ended up trying to find him at another bar after we left and went to Denny's). A young-ish lesbian couple (?), half of which seemed familiar. And a kind-hearted black man who eyed us since we entered, so outgoing it bordered on functionally retarded. He came up to us to chat and filled us in on some of the bar's story. Among other things, we learned that the last Saturday of the month is always "Men/Bear Night," and that he DJs then.

My heart skipped a beat when a group of people came in shortly after us. It was mostly girls (three or four of them), a handsome and tall gay guy, and finally -- a truly beautiful man, all baseball cap and single earring, in some North Face-ish jacket, oozing masculinity, oozing straight, newbie, or closet case -- ya know, any of those things I always fall for. I was immediately smitten. Increasingly long story short: the girls came and asked us to dance. We did, but I reverted to my high school self again. I wasn't drunk (I was driving) and I couldn't dance. I stood awkwardly, swaying a bit, on the big, empty dance floor, watching my man sit on the sidelines, one of the girls almost constantly on his lap. What a waste.

The second night was much busier, but I guess my perception was off from Night #1. I mean, at that point, 20 people would've felt like 200. But still, the place felt not just fuller, but almost full. There were people of all ages, shapes, sizes -- well, all but really attractive or appealingly intelligent. But I guess that's just Rutland.

Greg and I lurked for a bit. We ended up sitting at the end of the bar, by the front of the place, directly in front of the large picture window. Undoubtedly, foolish people like us were driving-by the place all night to check out the novelty of the gay bar, or to scope it out before they went it. All night, we were the first (and maybe only) ones they saw. I hadn't been the face of homosexuality in Rutland in years.

The handsome and tall gay guy from the night before was there, suddenly bleached blonde. I said hey, and he joined us for a while. Marshall was his name. Kristen, my best bud from another life (Rutland High School), breezed through. She looked amazing and, well, breezy. She, a stanch bisexual, said she was "sick of lesbians" but then proceeded to leave us for the girl drama in the other room.

A cute but creepy guy began to cruise Greg. He was cute. Nice face, short hair, glasses, decent build -- he looked a bit like Wesley from Angel. The thing was, he was wearing an ugly yellow jacket tied around his waist as he circled the bar. It was just horrifying. Eventually, he sat near/next to us, and we mostly ignored him. Finally, while Greg was in the bathroom, I caught his eye contact and couldn't not say hello. So we struck up a conversation, and this Charlie ended up being a pretty nice guy. A fellow RHS graduate (surprisingly, class of '82 - I would've said '90 at the earliest - we looked young), now a wine dealer in Boston, he was home for the holiday. Add a couple other random gay guys through out the night (all of us were just in town for Thanksgiving), and you got our posse for the night.

We stayed until 2AM, and the place didn't seem to be closing. They stopped serving and things had wound down a bit, but in many ways, things were still in full swing. Greg and I left for Denny's, without any boy adventures, or any interest in having any. But I guess that's just Rutland.