Boobie needs more foreplay.
So we head for zGirl Club, where two of the Pussy Posse Girls, Playa and Punk, have agreed to meet us. The club sits on a stretch of 7th Avenue, just north of Indian School Road, that's dominated by gay clubs and businesses. There are several gay-owned vintage shops on the strip and zGirl is a very short walk from another well-known lesbian club, e-Lounge — which is where we park for zGirl, as its own minuscule lot is already crammed full of cars.
Playa's waiting at the club when we arrive around 10 p.m., and all three of us are pleased with the scene here. I used to come here every so often for the drag king shows when zGirl Club was called Misty's, but I never came here to hook up because the crowd was mostly composed of mullet-wearin' mamas who danced in Dockers to old Janet Jackson tunes.
But it seems as if a lot has changed since the Misty's days. Tonight, zGirl Club is full of females of every type. There are still some mullets, but the majority of the women here are fucking hot. There's a young lady dressed in a cop costume that I can't stop staring at; a beautiful Asian woman with a Mohawk whose date is a tall, lanky, bald babe with some beautiful tats; a gorgeous black woman with bone structure to die for (hello, Iman!); and a Latina waitress with long, luxurious locks who keeps dancing around and grinding up on CooKie. The music is much better than it used to be, too, partly thanks to DJ Domenica, a longtime spinner at lesbian clubs, who's bumpin' hot hip-hop hits tonight that actually pack the dance floor.
CooKie gives Playa a squirt gun (she's brought a small arsenal), and they head for the bathroom to load up. I have opted not to participate in any water wars, but Playa, a cute, little punk rock chick from Cali who digs all things Alice in Wonderlandand works as a Volkswagen mechanic, is totally down for some shenanigans.
On the dance floor, CooKie celebrates our arrival by pulling out her purple plastic gun and squirting Playa in the face with a stream of sink water.
Playa fires back, and suddenly, it's all-out war, with both of them shooting and running relentlessly. CooKie ducks behind other dames as Playa jockeys for position near the stripper pole. The water in the squirt guns is cold, and other patrons scream and gasp with surprise when some wayward water splashes across their backs. After 30 seconds of chaos, the big bouncer woman walks up to CooKie and politely but sternly says, "Don't do that in here."
So the melee spills into the zGirl parking lot, where CooKie and Playa empty their squirt guns onto each other (and me). They go back inside to refill, and we start walking toward e-Lounge. All three of us are wet now.
While we're meandering down 7th Avenue, I hear someone yelling "Fuck you! Fuck yooou!" at us. I turn around and see the Pussy Posse Punk smiling and flipping us off from the driver's seat of her SUV. CooKie yells for Punk to park at e-Lounge, and she and Playa start walking toward Punk's vehicle.
"Yeah, I'll park at your mom's house!" Punk yells, right before getting a massive blast of water in the face from her friends.
CooKie and Playa run toward the next club, giggling, while Punk screeches off toward the e-Lounge parking lot. She's getting out of her truck when the pair bum rushes her again, dousing her shirt. Punk, who's also the drummer for local band Tremulants, has short, crazy hair that naturally stands up like she's in an electrical storm, and a high-energy personality to match. She's good-natured about the assault, screaming threats through her laughter and helplessly covering her head with her hands.
Inside e-Lounge, the crowd doesn't look very promising. There are several people on the dance floor and a bunch of women by the bar, but none of them passes muster with CooKie, so we go make out by the bathrooms while Playa and Punk make out at the bar.
Suddenly, Cookie seizes my shoulder. "Quick, let's go T.P. Punk's truck while she's distracted!"
Well, we did buy all that red crepe paper and those letter magnets earlier . . .
Outside, CooKie quickly starts draping the red paper all over the SUV while I begin spelling out "YOUR MOM EATS GREAT PUSSY" in big, colorful magnetic letters across the driver's side. A girl with glasses gets out of the car next to us and asks CooKie what she's doing.
"It's okay, we know her," CooKie says. "Help me!"
The girl looks at CooKie, who's bent over the hood with her boobs almost hanging out, and stutters, "Uh, okay. Sure . . ."
The two of them make short work of the ream of crepe paper, and then CooKie hands me her camera and poses proudly next to her work.
We go back in the bar and commence looking for a hot woman. After all four of us come up short, we decide it's time for the main event: Boobie.
I really enjoyed this article, and want to thank Nicki for writing it. Sorry if it didn't appeal to the masses, aka, the non-lesbian/bisexual female community, but I thought it was funny and provided some good insight into the bar scene. I've lived here for about 6 months and really haven't been out much, but now I have an idea of where to go, just in time for some friends who are visiting next month. Thanks again!
Not Surprised, all I know is that if I was a lesbian coming for a visit to Phoenix, I'd go to Z-Girl club because they throw a better party as opposed to the other clubs visited. That was what the article was about right? That certainly looks like journalism to me. As for the creativity, I wish I was creative enough to get into a water pistol fight with a bunch of hot lesbians. But, that's just me. Well, me and most other men. ;)
This isn't journalism. It's a lame personal diary entry from a writer with no creativity. It's sad that the New Times must resort to filling pages with this crap.
I hear that the Holy Diver is also super pissed about the new internet radio royalty hike.
Fret not, guitargod. The next one will be about Ronnie James Dio's boobs and how they're affecting musicians' efforts to stop the genocide in Darfur.
You're goddamned right you won't find that kind of action in Tucson. People down there are too busy being "artists" and making "music" to have a good time. What a bunch of pussies.In all seriousness though, I think its really discouraging that with all the important things happening in the world of music these days, all this paper can think to write about is how awesome it was to get wasted at a shitty gay bar. On second thought, none of the important issues I'm thinking about have anything to do with Ronnie James Dio, so it stands to reason that Nikki would ignore them. I take back what I said. Give me more Boobies!
I like hot girl on girl action as much as the next person, but this is sad. I say this for 2 reasons. First, my Friday night was WAY more interesting than the one described in this article. I got hammered ass drunk, saw some titties and lit a guitar on fire. My only regret is that my friends and I didn't think to put the fire out with squirt guns, that would have really sent things over the top.More importantly, I fail to see what this article has to do with the MUSIC scene in this shit town of ours.
Omar, you don't like titties and squirt guns? I found this article much more interesting than that crap about cops and tasers. Public safety? WHO CARES. GIVE ME MORE LESBIAN ANTICS!
The writing was done well on this article but unfortunately I'm left thinking "since when do blogs get city-wide print distribution?". I keep reading articles about a few people I don't know and their night on the town, in which nothing too exciting really happens. There was some interesting info in here, with good background about the "scene" but sometimes I just wonder why people would care to read about someone elses' night?
Squirt guns? Wet T's? How old is Niki anyway? 13 1/2? I guess you have to find readers where you can.
