one night in the west village, nyc

Ok, so none of you have a clue about the west village in nyc.
You don't even know. So, know.
Here's a taste of one evening.
More to come later.

Gaetana's. An old italian joint. I walk in the door with my suitcase and the first thing said to me is, "you got a dead body in there or something?". Yeah, mobster hangout. Not like a tourist attraction have fun with the machine gun restaurant. No, it's a place where some hits were carried out back in the day... Hits like 86'd and whacked. Those kind of hits. Think Gotti. Sammy the Bull Gravano. Fuckin' Cosa Nostra. So, Liner works at gaetana's. She runs the place. Everyone there is your best friend. It's the neighborhood hang in the west village. Everyone knows everyone. The owner was buying us drinks before the night was over. I will visit every time I am in New York. Thank you gaetana's.

The Spotted Pig. Ako, Liner, and I hit up the Spotted Pig for a little food. We had the best appetizer I have ever had: dates-filled-with-pear-wrapped-in-bacon-with-dark-asian-sauce. Wow. Burger with roquefort cheese. HEAVENLY. Liner can't eat cheese. But she ate it. It was too delicious. Irrestible. But she got sick. Bummer. Had to go home. She would tell you she should have been doing homework anyway. She's in school. Stay in school. Do the right thing. Liner is always avoiding homework. But she was sick this time. Spotted Pig was righteous. Righteously delicious. And Liner lived to tell about it.

So, liner leaves, and ako and I proceed to go to the Whitehorse tavern and have some drinks. Oldest bar in New York. Drank some Yuengling, a good east coast beer. We're feeling pretty good. We're walking back to liner's and ako sees a Karaoke sign... It's a must stop. She makes the call, just walks in the door like she owns the place. After entering, we realize it's not just a regular karaoke bar.

IT'S A BLACK GAY/LESBIAN KARAOKE BAR. For you politically correct friends... That translates to a HOMOSEXUAL AFRICAN-AMERICAN KARAOKE BAR.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, obviously. But we kind of stick out. Maybe it's our skin tone, sexual orientation, and my crazy red hair?

So, what does one do at a flaming karaoke bar where you are the only white/straight characters in the bar and everyone obviously knows it? Well, make friends, drink, and sing, of course. Ako wasn't shy. Never was, Never will be. She managed to say the following to our friends after several (ahem, several several) straight whiskeys:

"Watch me shake my ass like a black woman"
"My ass isn't bad for a white girl, right?"
"right?"

This is all happening while we are dancing in the bar, grooving to the R&B soul karaoke. Some of our new friends even took the mic and just started going straight church on us. Like, the gospel hand clapping singing amen hollering groove inducing melodies were flowing - screw the karaoke, it was gospel hour. DaMN, IT WAS ON. Everyone is dancing. At this point Ako mentioned that I took her to church one time and she didn't like it, and our soul sister said... "This ain't church - - this is chuuuurch, girl." Oh yes, even in a bar called Rubyfruit you can find some brilliant gospel-soul music. And by the end of the night they were calling me JT because of my ridiculously sweet-ass moves on the dancefloor.

Did you catch that? The bar was called RUBYFRUIT.
We were on the most famous gay-rights street in America.
Are we oblivious?
Maybe, but obliviously enjoying a Friday night in the NYC?
Yes.
Definitely.