Shasay! Shantay!

Keeping up with my blog in Bogota has proven to be a lot more difficult than it was in Borneo. In Borneo, every time I turned around there was something totally bizarre going on. There was vagina chalk, black magic, fish pedicures, and headhunters. My blog practically wrote itself. Life in Bogota is actually pretty normal except for the fact that I don't know what anybody is saying (it might be time to admit that I am just not a linguist). I can meet friends for dinner, I can drink wine, I can go to the movies, and I can do yoga. In addition to the fact that there are fewer things that strike me as bonkers, I also spent the first two months here with no friends and became increasingly certain that the rocking chair in my living room was laughing at me. I had a pretty hard time thinking of a way of how to spin that into stories that were anything close to hilarious. 

However, after a lot of hard work I did find some friends and told my rocking chair to shut the hell up.  I must admit after spending the first couple of months watching lots of internet television I forgot how to go out at night. The thought of leaving my house after 9 pm had become a strange and exhausting concept. However, since I finished watching the entire seasons of Revenge, The Killing, and Mad Men I really had no choice.  

I must confess that my first time going to a club in Bogota I was immediately skeptical. I blame this on the dancers at the clubs who looked a lot like this:

and this:

Am I alone in thinking that little people forced to dress up as clowns and oompa loompas and then dance around do not really create a party atmosphere? This might be related to the fact that I have a lifelong fear of LPs (which I don't support or condone). However, just as I was getting over the LPs dancing around in hot pink wigs, I spied a giant mime. Who the hell was managing this club? Clearly some sort of lunatic or sadist.

I would like to take this time to warn all my fellow grumpy brunettes out there with attitude problems about something. If you go out to a club in Colombia with a Swedish blond who is cute and nice and cool, she may be a little bit more popular than you. You may also be cornered several times during the evening by small Latin American men who, using their best broken English, will demand to know how they can better impress your nice, blond friend. Then they might also look in the direction of another potential suitor and declare that he is a "PAYASO". Since this means clown in Spanish you may become concerned that one of the LP dancers may have overheard and hope that they haven't since their job is clearly hard enough. Then said suitor might also come back from the bar with drinks for everyone but you. It won't be like you will be unable to afford your own $4 dollar beer, but you may in fact end up feeling a little butthurt anyways and consider that maybe your mother may have had a point when she told you that you catch more bees with honey.


It's not like I mind being a wingman, but at certain points I was afraid there might be some sort of riot and I was not sure what my course of action would be. Then some gays showed up. I heaved a giant sigh of relief! Finally, some dudes that usually appreciate ladies with bad attitudes. They were doing a lot of dancing and pulled me onto the dance floor. While it usually takes a lot to get me onto the dance floor I am usually OK at gay dancing. This is because it is all a big joke. I am someone who would never consider sexy dancing for real since I am not a teenager or a pop star. However, the rules are different while gay dancing. The sexy dancing is usually accompanied by a giggle fit since it's all so funny! Make no mistake chicas: Your gay friends love you, but they also find you totally sexually repulsive. Therefore, sexy dancing is all an incredibly, big joke. Since I like jokes, I am totally OK with this. 


However, when I found myself in a gay sandwich something felt off, and not just because I was at a straight club. Where was the giggle fit? Where were the sarcastic faces you make to let each other know that you are all in on the joke? Why was it feeling vaguely serious? I suddenly found myself confused. 

Macho? I get it! No convincing needed!

Then the older guys wanted to dance just the two of us. He wanted to dance really, really close. Again, there was no laughing. He started to try to look deeply into my eyes and I had a sneaking suspicion that I could feel something on my thigh. What the hell was going on? I had this strange feeling that he was trying to show that he was still an hombre, even though he had just finished making out with his adorable boyfriend. Either that or Latin American are just so seriously sensual they have trouble understanding the concept of sexy gay dancing as a goof. Maybe down here sexy is always serious? Aye dios mios! Either way I found myself wishing my Spanish had progressed enough  to say something like "Sir, no judgements here! I am clearly a dedicated sister to the community, but could you please back up off me?" or just flashed him a copy of this photo to prove I was totally down and in no need of proof of anyone's masculinity. I have been to The Folsom Street Fair and hung out on Christopher Street- I'm cool!

It was one of the first times I was confused by my gays! While living in Bogota really is pretty normal, I suppose there are a few cultural differences.  Maybe the G men of Colombia just need to watch a few more videos like this: