Diversity on a dancefloor

JL, Former Bestie (whoshall be dubbed Icktapuss) & I went out last weekend. Like any good redneck/tourist/college village, Downtown Durango has all of 9 blocks, averaging  3-4 bars per block.  When I turned 21, I vowed to take a drink in every bar on main street. I don’t think I made it past #8.

Dressed in my ghetto fabfarmulous combination of a JC Penny halter top, slightly shredded wedge heels and Applebottom Jeans, we made a B-line for the only place in town with a DJ and a dancefloor. Immediately we were singled out as the local fruit flies by a heavily eyeshadowed gayboy in a neon pink shirt who had driven up from an even smaller town across the New Mexican border.

His accompanying fag hag was three sheets to the wind. “I have a 9 month old! This is the first time I’ve been out in over a year,” she slurred with joy.

“Oh girl, I was so there. I know EXACTLY how you feel!”

I surveyed the patio. As usual there was a posse of homegirls/guys from the Land of Enchantment marking their Colorado territory for the night. The college boys were starting to come back for fall semester, filling up the bar with Abercrombie & Fitch. The creepy townies were there (oh God, is that me now?). I then noticed something. There were 5 (gasp) Black dudes chilling at the corner of the tiki bar. Had lily white Durango acquired some culture since I became a single mom?

Immediately I started giving them the “come hither” look, but they weren’t even making eye contact. Obviously their Blackberries apps were way hotter than my Kmart ass. No problem. I work my magic on the dancefloor anyway. 😉

Having 3 dirty martinis in my system at that point, I took the liberty of doing my own ridick interpretation of Fire Burning on the Dancefloor and one of the brown eyed hotties finally worked his sweet self over to me. DING DING. He wore me out with his dance moves, but that’s the way (uh huh uh huh) I like it.

A few songs later, two Marines approached Ictkapuss, JL and me. They were on leave from Texas, which meant that they only knew how to country swing, but hell I’m down to two-step to DMX if I get to play with some dogtags.

We gave the Marines a ride home and they told us they were about to be sent back to Afghanistan for the 3rd time. After riding such a high all night, my jaw dropped at this statment. I guess my woeful look was a little too obvious because one of the boys said, “Dude, don’t talk about that. You’re making me depressed.”

We thanked them for a good time, the dances and the service they were doing our fucked up country. I had to stop looking at their pretty faces before I got all Pisces and started crying over it.

Between the brown-eyed, brown-skinned hottie & the very handsome, very polite Semper Fis, I’d say this was a roaring Durango girl’s night success. It gave me a little more faith in my town. Its growing. Its diversifying (slightly). If Denver doesn’t work out, I don’t live in all that bad a place afterall.