his GSP navigated us to the projects of the gay bars

Every blogger wants to be engaged, preferably by people who are reading the blog.  Feel free (or even compelled) to comment (click the “comment” link at the bottom of the post).  Shouts out to OMFG NYC, Marc, Sue, and Urban Sprawl (I think) for doing so.

 

For some ungodly reason, I was lame the whole week following Memorial Day, so I didn’t make it out until Friday.  One of my best friends from undergrad (I specify as if I went to grad school), the Humanitarian Hottie, was having one of her famed parties at her fabulous Park Slope apartment (she is an actual she).  She works for the city basically making sure poor people have jobs (and flirting with the Commissioner to make sure shit gets done), and Urban Sprawl had just completed a masters program in which she was interested.  I made a few phone calls (or sent one facebook message)… And basically Urban Sprawl’s Sex and the City plans fell through, so he came to BK. 

 

Even though Urban Sprawl works for the city and could probably get us a helicopter ride with her benefits, she was insisting that a cab would be too much from Park Slope to BK and that we should take the subway (did I mention she works for the MTA) to Williamsburg after the party.  Hopstop.com said 42 min or about $14.  I don’t know about you Salary Slaves, but this Hourly Ho’s time is definitely worth more (if you include my benefits… maybe).  We agreed that we’d decide when we were leaving the party.

 

We meet in Manhattan and ride out to The Slope together.  The Humanitarian Hottie gives us an enthusiastic welcome (after we take off our shoes in the hall… which was a shame b/c I was wearing fabulous cowboy boots to compliment my shirt, but she is part Japanese).  As I’m mixing Urban Sprawl(‘s?) and my cocktail (do I really need an ‘s there?), everyone seemed to be amazed at the amount of liquor I put into the cups.  “Oh, like you’ve never been to a how you doin’ bar!”  And once she had it in her hand, Urban Sprawl was certainly not complaining.  After US and Humanitarian Hottie got somewhat acquainted, HH had to return to her hostly duties (i.e., talking to people less interesting than we… kidding!). US and I mostly stayed in the kitchen, and I listened to him verbally fantasize about the straight boys that surrounded us (and possibly joined in myself).  Then she realized there were chips in the dining room.  Okay, bye.  

 

I made Urban Sprawl another how you doin’ drink (and another 2 for myself) whilst we mingled with the (supposedly) straight crowd.  Around 11, we decided that it was high time to move on to something less mainstream.  Urban Sprawl was all about catching a cab, and luckily his internal GPS knows subways AND surface streets in Brooklyn too.  Unluckily, his GSP navigated us to the projects of the gay bars: Metropolitan.  I had only been there once on a weekend night, and I hated it, but I figured I’d give it another chance since Urban Sprawl is unmovable and infallible when it comes to picking a venue. 

 

$14.00 later (on my credit card), we pull up, and the bar is EMPTY.  There are like 7 people (including our friend, the Wicked Bitch of the Midwest… who isn’t really wicked, or much of a bitch, but I really like that name).  So Midwest is sitting on one of the couches, and Urban Sprawl greets her for about 2 seconds before heading straight for the bar.  “Wait, there are 10 people here including us, and you’re getting a drink?  How about a drink a Sugarland?”  (Bars in BK seem to have this condition where they don't want to pay for websites, but they still charge as much for drinks as Manhattan bars.)  I practically shout as she comes stumbling back.  Guess my drinks were a little too how you doin’.  “There’s people outside in the back!” she slurs back.  “Oh, on the smoking deck.  Just how I planned to spend my Friday night.”  I went out, and there was quite a crowd on the deck.  And not that many people smoking (I HATE smelling like smoke, especially if I meet someone new… just because I put smoking in the same category as meth or crack: do you know how many jokes people make about crack heads?!  How do you even get started on that shit!).   After about 10 minutes of no music (and not even in the cool Lil Mama way), our friend who just graduated from a masters program in Pubic Finance showed up with about 10 girls.  And where did Pubic Finance and all his harem go?  ALL went to get drinks.  When one of them lit up a cigarette, I couldn’t deal anymore, so I asked some strangers for directions to Sugarland, the Williamsburg gay club with no cover.

 

I book it out the door, texting Urban sprawl something like, “I can’t deal.  Sugarland.”  Just as I’m crossing the BQE (under, not playing chicken), my friend the Honest Artist (at times TOO honest) calls me.  Turns out he’d left his memory card for his camera at home, which he realized after about a half hour of taking pictures for the bar (typical artist), so he was on his way back home to pick one up.  I met up with him and walked to his very impressive… I guess it was a loft.  Good to know not everyone in Williamsburg is roughing it. 

 

Then we get back to the bar where the Honest Artist’s boyfriend, the Honest Alice (he took her first name), was patiently drinking, uh, waiting.  In fact, his breath reeked of waiting!  Urban Sprawl, who had shared at least a long island with Midwest, showed up about a half hour later, loud as hell.  He eventually slunk down to one of the depressed buffets to regain his balance.  Urban Sprawl’s friend, Ernie was there (sans his partner, Bert), and he was quite concerned about US’s state.  “Honey, please,” I said.  “As long as she passes out face down, she’ll be alright.  In fact, she’ll take it as an insult if you go check up on her!”  But Ernie insisted. 

 

Meanwhile, I made eye contact with a guy that I had hooked up with about 6 months ago (last time I was at Sugarland).  I think he was an artist or something like that.  Totally cute, and a good enough hook up, but I didn’t know until we got to his place that he smoked.  I still did him, but I couldn’t deal any further.  Back to the present, he bought me a drink and then said he was going to dance.  Was I wrong for not following?  Sorry, I’m here with my boys.  He should be glad I didn’t ask for top shelf (kidding!)

 

Sidenote: speaking of Top Shelf, check out this song by my friend, Jess.  Yeah, yeah, she’s my “play cousin” and all, but this is a really professional track, and the lyrics, though totally superficial, are really well done!  I haven’t even plugged my own myspace page yet, so that tells you how highly I regard her work.

 

So, back to the story.  Ernie eventually joins those of us who are still conscious.  We turn around, and Urban Sprawl’s gone.  Ernie runs out of the club to look at her, but she’s taken flight for the G train back to Queens without a word.  “She does that all the time when she’s drunk.  Some people throw up.  Some people pass out.  She runs for the subway with no goodbye.  You’ll get a text tomorrow; don’t worry.”

 

Did I mention that we love a self-reliant drunk?  Yeah.