Okay, so I have black hair, a twisted sense of humor, a wardrobe full of dark colors, and an unwavering love for 80s music, but I swear I am not goth.
Having said that, I will now proceed to share the most inappropriate goth-related story I can possibly think of that I can still get away with, without making myself look too bad and without getting an email about it from my boss. Here goes...
I will admit that eyeliner on a guy, when done right, can be kind of hot. Seriously though, not goth.
I'm writing about my recent immersion in the goth subculture because people have been asking me to update my blog, but I don't really have anything new and interesting that I can share. At least not publicly. While I'm incredibly flattered that some of my friends have taken an interest in my writing, I'm also slightly terrified at the idea of exposing myself to everyone. I mean, I run around the apartment in my underwear, but no one sees that. Having my blog scrutinized by people I actually know feels much more naked. And now that people from work have started reading it, I have to be extra careful about what I post online.
Having said that, I will now proceed to share the most inappropriate goth-related story I can possibly think of that I can still get away with, without making myself look too bad and without getting an email about it from my boss. Here goes...
I lived in the Bay Area for six years before moving to Southern California. I never lived in San Francisco proper, but I had a very good friend who did, and we would frequently go out together in the city. We both worked at Nordstrom back then, so we were both always dressed up and ready to hit the town.
One afternoon, my friend called me, as usual. A new club had opened across the street from his apartment building and he wanted to check it out, as usual. He needed a wingman, as usual. I agreed to come with him, as usual. We would often grab dinner before going out, so as soon as I got off work I drove straight to his place. As usual.
The first thing he said to me upon answering the door was: "You're gonna wear that?"
It was the middle of summer, so I was wearing a white skirt, a powder blue tank top under a denim blazer, white sandals, and a plaid powder blue headband. I thought I looked nice. He was also dressed in typical Nordstrom attire - a black suit without the tie - so I wasn't sure what the problem was.
We arrived at the club, showed our IDs, paid the cover, got our wristbands, and made our way inside. I found out soon enough why my friend didn't care for my outfit.
The place we went to was one of those clubs that did different themes every night, and on that particular night, the theme was "Bondage-A-Go-Go."
It wouldn't have been so bad if all that was going on was a bunch of weirdos in freaky attire dancing around to industrial music. What this place had was weirdos in leather jumpsuits, weirdos in assless chaps, weirdos in fishnet dresses with nothing underneath, weirdos on swings, weirdos behind bars, weirdos that were tied up, dominant weirdos whipping submissive weirdos, sadistic weirdos giving electric shocks to masochistic weirdos, weirdos simulating kinky sex, weirdos actually having kinky sex, weirdos getting involved with more than one weirdo at a time, old weirdos, even older weirdos, transvestite weirdos, post-op weirdos, and of course, weirdos wrestling in a plastic tub full of fake blood.
I was horrified. My friend, on the other hand, was really enjoying himself, especially when a security guard spotted me and demanded to see my wristband to make sure I hadn't wandered in there by accident. Trooper that I was, I stuck it out for as long as I could, but as soon as I got splattered with fake blood by a couple of over-eager weirdos going at it in the plastic tub, I was ready to go.
When I saw my friend talking to a cute blonde girl, I decided that it was an appropriate time to make my exit. I texted him that I was leaving and took off.
About half an hour later, he called me. I asked if he'd exchanged numbers with the blonde. He told me that she was an accountant working in Palo Alto and that she had offered to violate him with a strap-on. So, no.
The lesson here, kids, is that you should always do your research before going someplace new. Ask questions. Bring a change of clothes if you have to. And it never hurts to find out if someone wants to torture you anally before giving them your phone number. I may not be goth, and I may still find myself in questionable situations from time to time, but at least I'll never again make the mistake of wearing powder blue to a club whose theme for the night is "Bondage-A-Go-Go."
