That post-Madonna Monday night clubbing.

So, to pick up that last post, the club was fucking packed by the time I got up there – popped by a swanky club that had no cover on Mondays for industry night, to get in a new bar, before I realized my favorite trashy club had opened special that night for the Madonna after-party – and I honestly think it was over capacity.

One guy had on this jagged crown of gold shards at least 2-3 feet high on his head, and every inch of his showing skin was painted this very pale white and perhaps even blue, and he was sitting on the bar to the left of the entrance, every once in a while darting forward to lean forward and talk with some friend standing somewhere at the bar.

Right off the bat, I saw my one (Latina) tr*nny friend, who I had bumped into at the stadium venue before the concert started, and I asked her what she thought.

“It was great!”, she was like, and she said that she didn’t know what to expect, since she wasn’t “raised with her music” and she doesn’t “know it very well.”

Though the concert was long, she also said that she felt it was short, and that she wanted another 30 minutes.

 “You know,” I was like, “It’s two-and-half hours,” and as soon as I got to “…hours,” she started laughing and batting my chest.

“I thought you said two-and-a-half inches!”, she was like.

Later, when I was at the back bar in this interminable drink line, I was talking with this like (late 40s / early 50s) (short) (built like a brick) (short-haired) (Latina) lesbian, and it turns out that not only was she there with her girlfriend, but that she was a Madonna fan from like way back originally.

I asked her what she thought about Madonna’s world music breakdown, and she was like, “I didn’t mind it, but honestly, that’s stuff that my grandma wears!”.

Later, when I bumped into her in the drinkline at the front bar, where the freaky king guy was sitting, I told her that I loved how Madonna got eaten out twice in the concert, the second time to that spoken line from Hard Candy “my sugar is RAW / my sugar is RAW”.

She agreed, that she liked it, and by that time I was ordering 2-3 beers at a time, so I could chug one, move on to the next one, and keep one in my back pocket for when I needed it, so I didn’t have to wait in those lines for so f*cking long.

Later later, I was speaking with some (middle-aged) (white) people from the suburbs who were also Madonna fans from way back when, and it turns out that the one guy from the pair (a gay dude and his woman friend) had been to every single Madonna tour ever.

“Best since Blonde Ambition,” he was like, about the Rebel Heart tour.

I then asked him about the concert’s odd ending, where Madonna relatively explicitly threw it on the audience, that “I gave you a party, but at what cost?”.

“I don’t know,” he was like, and he knit his jaw, which could tell you that he was still thinking about it.

Overall, I found that a better response than some (drunk) woman’s response earlier in the night, “I LOVE IT, SHE CAN DO WHATEVER SHE WANTS, I LOVE HER SO MUCH.”

Later later, I was talking with a shiny young (Venezuelan), whose first Madonna concert it was, and who had been deeply moved by the choreography.

Fortunately we didn’t talk long enough for me to say how much I love Chavez and for him to get all reactionary like the Young Republican of Latin America that like all young Venezuelans in the U.S. tend to be if you talk with them for long enough, but then his young (dark-skinned) (trim-bearded) friend kept trying to catch my eye, so I sidled up to him and spoke Spanish to him, unsuccessfully, twice.

Turns out he’s Brazilian.

After two words of formality, he was like, “Look at you, you could have any man in the place."

Then, after I said something – hopefully, something like, “Why would I want that?” – we began talking about what we do etc., and then he segued into that he didn’t know what he wanted.

“I don’t know either,” I was like.

At that, he drew up, “But I’m only looking for a boyfriend!”, he was like.

It was some kind of inadequate jealousy trap, from what I can tell.

I’ve heard Brazilians are jealous, or at least some of them.

Outside afterwards was when my one Latina friend suggested a threesome, and said she likes a hairy ass.

I do believe she also said that she doesn’t get many gayboys since she’s a woman, which almost makes me wonder if she ends up f*cking the straight guys that pick her up.