This little piggy went bluuuuhhhhh!

So, I'm out partying with a teammate Saturday night. She's just turned 30 and has invited over 30 women to join her at AsiaSF for dinner, dancing, and the possibility to move on to a strip club afterward. Yes, most of them are lesbians.

When I first saw the dinner invite for AsiaSF, I was a little surprised, but figured it would be cool to see how my friends are with transsexuals dancing around on the bar once an hour. I sat with a variety people, some friends that I've known for a few years, and others I'd just met that night.

It's funny listening to genetic women disgusted over how incredible some of the dancers bodies are. They're just as envious as I am, but in actuality, some of the genetic women had just as awesome of bodies as the ones dancing on the bar top. I guess a lot of women just feel ashamed about their bodies, even though they look fine.

One of the things I did notice, though, is that even though most of the dancers would never be recognized as a transsexual when walking down the street, and by any other means would only appear to be a genetic woman, a number of the lesbians continued to call all of them "he" or "him". Only a few called them "she". A few of them switched back and forth from male to female pronouns, which I found kinda interesting. I wonder what type of switch was activating inside that brain of theirs. Was it the pronouns used by others that caused them to switch according to who was talking and listening. Was it simple peer pressure, or was their brain trying to wrap itself around how to describe these beauties that strut their stuff for all to see?

Dinner was fairly late, and we caught the last dance of the evening with all of the dancers closing out the evening. I could swear a number of the lesbians were trying to hook up with a T or two, which seemed pretty progressive in a way. A few of my friends called it a night, but I decided to follow a few (along with the birthday girl) to a strip club. We stood outside around 1:45am waiting for our birthday girl to arrive, but as 2am drew close, we decided to check up on her. Our coach was out with us as well, and we all went to search for them. After finding her and three others having issues, we decided to drop them off at their hotel and call it a night.

Unfortunately for me, I end up transporting one of the women who is having issues, and begins having a panic attack in my back seat. Halfway to her hotel, she pukes in my back seat, with half of it eventually making it out the door. Gross. My car is brand new. It's a two-seater, so there are no windows in back. Because she was sitting right behind me, I basically had to slide my seat up all the way and lean forward onto the steering wheel so she could get her head outside the car while we're stopped at a green light in downtown San Francisco.

Sigh. I spent 3-4:30am trying to clean the vomit and vomit smell out of my car using a garden hose and spray cleaner. I checked out my car yesterday afternoon, and there was still a bit of funk to it...so I was back out there with laundry detergent and the garden hose. I think the smell is now gone. I left the sunroof and windows slightly open all day to try to air it out, and it didn't seem to smell on my way to and from work.

No more drunk lesbians in my car from now on!!! And some wonder why I dislike hauling people around. Going forward, I have to start playing the "I'm too old to stay out this late"-card so I can skip out before everyone gets plastered.