Dancing Queen.

Friday marked a first for me in a very long time. I went dancing. For those of you who know me, you know I hate to dance. It’s not that I can’t dance, I just don’t enjoy it. At all.

Friday night proved a hypothesis I had been testing. Give me 2 martinis and I can be talked into anything. Including going to a dance club. We ended up at some club in Salt Lake. The name of the club is not important, since they are all pretty much the same. Dark, musty, smoke filled spaces with thumping bass, writhing bodies and flashing lights. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.

I was with Sho, who is a true dancing queen. She can do things in heels I can only dream of doing in sneakers. As we were paying our cover charge, she was shaking she was so excited to dance. Once inside, she made her way directly to the dance floor to shake what her momma gave her. Myself, I found a table on the edge of the dance floor to keep an eye on my group, and settled in for a night of people bumping into me on their way to the dance floor. A night full of, THUMP followed by “Sorry dude.” Not exactly how I had hoped to spend my Friday night. At this point I am checking out the other patrons of the club, and judging them accordingly. Girl in pink should not be wearing a tube top. Mr. Back Hair needs to put his shirt back on. Is that girl doing yoga on the dance floor?? I typically have rude commentary running through my head. Like a stock ticker, only much funnier. However, when I am forced to do something I really don’t want to do my judgmental gene kicks into overdrive.

I glance back to the dance floor, scanning for Sho and see her making her way up onto a stage. I notice that the ugliest woman I have ever laid eyes on has offered her a hand. Sho takes the proffered hand and proceeds to dance her little heart out, next to the very ugly woman. As I am watching them I notice something disturbing. Something I would have noticed much more quickly if I had not followed the two martinis with two rum and cokes. Said very ugly woman has an adam’s apple. From what I’ve been told, women do not have adam’s apples. Realization dawns on me slowly. My eyebrows raise, my mouth drops open. Sho is dancing with the worst, most obvious drag queen you can imagine. Even worse than football players dressing up like women for Halloween. Now I don’t have any issues with drag queens usually. But honestly, if you are going to dress in women’s clothing, at least do it well.

I start waving my arms frantically to get someone’s attention. This situation is not one I can mock all by myself. This requires the mockery of a group. Something this hideous must be shared with friends. Michael sees me flailing about and comes over to where I am sitting.

Me: Uhhhh, who on earth is that dancing with Sho?
Michael: HOLY HELL! That is Tragica!
Me: Tragica?
Michael: Well I think he/she goes by Candy, but we all call her Tragica. She is infamous in Salt Lake City.

As it turns out, Tragica (so dubbed by my friend Spencer) is a 40 year old construction worker by day, drag queen by night. And I can’t stress enough how poorly done up she was. Frizzy blond wig that kept slipping down revealing male pattern baldness. Tight black tights. Short, white pleather mini-skirt. High heels, naturally. And what drag queen would be complete without a 5 o’clock shadow. Tragica was a walking disaster.

I’m afraid that Sho has been dethroned as the dancing queen of Salt Lake now. She must pass her scepter and crown to the one and only Tragica. Long live the queen…