Saturday, I woke up sometime in the early afternoon and got all my usual Sunday errands done a day earlier (score!). I hopped the train downtown and east to Urban Sprawl and France Pants’ place. Of course, it was the weekend, so Urban Sprawl was around the corner at his Madre’s place (and of course he said nothing about not being home), but it was good to have more 1-on-1 time with France Pants. Eventually US showed up, followed shortly by Ernie (once again, sans Bert). We had a moderately ridiculous amount of cocktails and went to the premier Queens how you doin’ bar, Atlantis *to be said with a generic Latin accent*. We all swipe our Metro Cards, and then France Pants gets all excited and jumps down a half flight of stairs in some very cute sneakers that have about half a sole. Well, I didn’t get why the hell she was on the ground b/c I assumed she had done it like a long jump (one of my 18 events in high school track). If she had, she would have been a lot better off b/c she ended up with a broken heel (the bone, not the shoe) and crutches. She insisted on taking the subway home, which may not have been the best idea, but our drunk, selfish asses weren’t trying to ride home with her once she had convinced us that she was fine…
We get there, and it’s just like I remember it from a year and a half ago, but that was when I went by myself (ugh). With my girls, I was feeling el ritmo de la Salsa! Then I made eye contact with this guy in a pink shirt. I see him by himself after an unspecified amount of time (read: drinks), and I beckon him over (literally waving my hand and mouthing come over). We meet and greet at even though I can’t tell how thick my vodka goggles are, I can tell I like his look. We chat for a while before he takes me to the smaller dance floor to dance some salsa. 1, 2, 3-and-4, 5-6, 7-and-, huh?! Yes, he lives in Westchester. And yes, I was ready to go there (he was a REALLY good teacher), but he wasn’t quite having it. Back to WaHi, I guess. And the first thing I did when I got home was check my computer. Sunday = best weather ever. Best idea ever? Texting everyone for a noon date at the Pier at 5:30am!
So, Urban Sprawl must have known she was going hard on Saturday because she had planned an event on Facebook for Queens Pride on Sunday and had already predicted that she wouldn’t make it anywhere outside her borough. I was intent on making it to the redundant festival (i.e., Queens Pride), but I can’t miss a nice afternoon on the Pier so I actually dragged my ass out. I may not have gotten there til 12:30, but damnit, I was searching for a liquor store that was open before 2pm on a Sunday (no luck that day, but I know where the first one is in the West Village). Bottomless Pitt finally showed up, followed by AFKAFB and her friend The White Akeem (she’s Turkish, but looks white enough, so we’ll call her TWA… we’re a fan of TWA, but not because she looks white!).
Okay, so sidenote about TWA. I met her at a brunch at Maracas one afternoon pre-Pier. Two weeks later, I’m on Adam4adam.com (or as my white friends say, “affirmative action for Adam”… whatever, I’ve gotten more play off of there than any of them have gotten on manhunt… (for better or worse). I take a look at his profile (he only had one pic: tisk), and I email him about his posted height: “6 feet? Really?” (PS, I’m writing this on the A train uptown after a night out, and a guy just got on the train at 125th whistling the WHOLE Kill Bill nurse song. WTF?!) So he writes back: “If you can be a vers/top, I can easily be 6 feet.” That’s when we knew we liked TWA (bitch)!
Anyway, we’re out there for maybe 45 min (b/c everyone shows up late as HELL) before the Bitter Commie Grad Student shows up and we poorer gays have to be subjected to the event that is Queens Pride (can’t wait!).
We get out to Jackson Heights, around 3ish. I called Urban Sprawl, and he said he told us what corner he was on. It looked like any street fair you would see on a Saturday in from a distance (except bigger), but as we approached, the how you doin’-ness became extremely apparent. I was leading the way when all of a sudden my ass starts shaking uncontrollably. Like a reflex, I throw Bottomless Pitt my bag and start dancing like crazy. That’s when I realized the 1992 Luke hit “Doo Doo Brown” was playing over someone’s speakers. Dance party in the street? Sure, why not. After about 2 minutes, Urban Sprawl showed up with a couple of more of our people.
We visited Uptown Brown, who was handing out stickers at a booth for gay non-profit. Chat, chat, chat… where’s that music coming from? And why are people walking out of that blue doorway? There doesn’t seem to be a bouncer or anything. Let’s go!
We walk in, and there’s a sparsely populated dance floor with awesome music. Looked to my left, and what did I see? A tall shiny pole! It wasn’t until about a half hour after I had spun down the pole headfirst that I realized that the pole was not reinforced from the top (not even touching the ceiling). I walked over to the bar, and that’s when I realized where we were. Pole, girl with see-through dress, bartenders with fake boobs… strip club! Well, a stripperless strip club. Which means authentic stripper pole. I thought I was going to be sick, but my $5 long island made me feel A LOT better. And the second one… well you get the idea.
Eventually, Ernie showed up avec his partner, Bert. The two of them live together in Jackson Heights and invited us over, which was good because a bunch of people were starting to discover our strip club. We walk what seems to be not too far to a very spacious apartment. We stayed there for hours, but the highlights were Brazilian girls (not the band), a very hot midget couple that wasn’t in the circus, and lots of caipirinhas (I told you they were Brazilian) and blended drinks. After a bit, we made our way to Manhattan. There was talk of Hot Mess at Porky’s, but I couldn’t deal. Did I mention I have to work on Monday? Yeah.
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