You can find me in the club

I love to dance; and if you've ever seen me dance, you're unlikely to forget it. But, for those who haven't seen me dance, then let's just say that the lower half of my body moves. A lot.

And because of my love of the dance, I've been frequenting a "club" in Chapel Hill a lot lately. Well, it's actually a martini bar most days of the week, but on Sunday nights, it becomes "Stir": the closest thing to a "gay club" that Chapel Hill has to offer. So yes, on the Lord's day (or the Lord's night, I suppose) I go gallivanting to Stir, hang with my a few of my gayer friends, and have a grand ol' time.


















Now, despite Sunday being "gay night" at the Martini Bar (some call it "Gaytini"), there are relatively few gay patrons. However,when considering there are relatively few gay people in Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill in the first place, Stir probably gets a representative sample of the gay-to-straight ratio in Chapel Hill.

Nevertheless, somehow every Sunday, really really straight people invade the club: we're talking thuggish hoodlums, football-playing no-necks, or some other form of guys who would not be cool with "Gaytini" night. Once this uber-straight element enters the club, any guy-on-guy dancing, flirting, or simple less-than-straight acting activity comes to a screeching halt. That is, until the unwelcomed element perceives that "Martini Bar isn't quite the same tonight," and then beats a hasty retreat.

Don't get me wrong, straight people are certainly welcomed--we don't have some moratorium on heterosexuality at "Gaytini." We just want to enjoy the night without worrying about 50 Cent over there having a less-than-civil reaction to the gay going-ons.

Now, despite what you may think, the music at Stir is not all Madonna and George Michael. You've got that "Ridin Dirty" song, that "Kick it like Tai-bo" song, and other examples of the dismal state of pop music (read: anything by Fergie). But sooner or later, the music pulls itself up from the doldrums of utter crap, and starts playing some Beyoncé, Ludacris, and etc.

But last Sunday, crouched between Ciara talking about her "1,2 Step" and Kelis being "Bossy", was probably the worst club song I've ever heard. It's not a bad song per se--it definitely gets a chuckle from me every time it's played--but it's impossible to dance to.

So, while there's no moratorium on straight people at "Gaytini" night, I decree a moratorium on "Dick in a Box."

That's right, the dj played "Dick in a Box"! Why? I have no idea, but I definitely wasn't dancing to it. But never fear, Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It" was played soon after.


So, dear readers, when will you be heading down to Chapel Hill to experience "Gaytini" for yourselves? I'll save you a barstool, I swear.