about the dangers of fisting

That Monday was supposed to be a recovery day, and boy did I need it.  My dumb ass had left my contacts in overnight (after having them coated with Let’s Jam, my fav water-soluble hair product), so my left eye looked like a 3-peat Chicago Bull’s poster.   

I spent the day on the Pier (half of which was spent with Bitter Commie Grad Student, who was late b/c she had to apply angsty eyeliner).  Dill Pickle, ASFKAB, and Bologna joined us for a champagned sunset view in the evening.  I lay low until Thursday, which was Med School Mess’s party as well as the night that I was skipping town for the weekend.  Like most of Med School Mess’s most brilliant moments, the idea for this party was conceived during an open bar (it was Carnival/Carnaval… you could be a clown or at Mardi Gras… whatever, they had alcohol).  I had packed my bag and left it at the office so that I could pick it up on my way to Penn Station.  I didn’t want to take a nap, so I really had no reason to go home between work and the party.  So what did I do?  I made happy hour plans! 

 

A friend IMed me about 123BurgerShotBeer, which was right around the corner from my job.  Apparently, it has the same owners as Posh and Bamboo 52 (how you doin’!).  Their draw was $1, $2 shots, and $3 beers.  I would have thought the homos would have been all over that, but only Bottomless Pitt showed up.  I got there and found that it was more of a sports bar.  Definitely straight.  And as expected, there were a few caveats to the deals they advertised.  Turns out the shots that are $2 are kamikazes, lemon drops, etc. The burgers are basically sliders (which I passed on because my stomach would not be pleased on that 3am train!), and you have to order at least 3.  But the well drinks were reasonable (I think $4 for happy hour and $6 regular), and the burgers, shots, and beers were the same price for the whole night.  Basically, we… Crap, I have no idea what we did from that point.  I think Bitter Commie Grad Student met up with us.  I remember Bottomless Pitt had to leave to meet some straight guy some where on the east side (isn’t that a double negative?). 

 

I do remember eventually getting to Med School Mess’s party, though.  I had recently called him on some false advertising because he had mentioned the Upper East Side in association with his residence.  I sent him a Wikipedia article showing him that he was a good 2 blocks into Spanish Harlem (even though my Adam4Adam profile lists me in Harlem, but people in QUEENS do that!). 

 

So eventually, I get past the point of tact (i.e., about a drink and a half… which may have happened 3 hours before I got to the party) and grab Med School Mess by the shoulder, “Mess, honey.  Can we PLEASE put on some pop music?  I know your straight friends like their indie rock and all, but we’re better dancers.”  Five minutes later, we’re screaming out Trannity Kane’s new single about the dangers of fisting.  “Do, do you got a Crisco tub handy!”

 

Don Juan from San Juan shows up (late as hell [as usual]) with a couple of ‘straight’ friends (give me a break… one was a professional ballet dancer!).  We almost immediately make plans to go to No Parking.  I strategically call shotgun, ignoring all the shotgun-calling rules, as we leave Mess’s apartment on the way to Don Juan’s car.  It seemed Don Juan and I were the soberest of the group (and I had had quite a bit to drink… perhaps we were the least out of control).  MicHELLe, who had jumped into the back seat (of course, sandwiched between the two “straight” guys), is telling this guy he’s gay.  “Hey, maybe if you keep doing that, it’ll work!”  Not.

 

We park the car, and micHELLe is demanding pirouettes from the dancer.  “Dude, it is a not-so-crowded street in the middle of an ‘up-and-coming’ neighborhood.*  I’m gonna need you to tone down your flame for me!”  Mariah has a song called “O.O.C” that would have worked perfectly. 

 

Maybe this was the night I saw Peppermint perform.  I think so b/c I definitely gave her a squiggly-fingered “wooorrrrrrrrrk!” and gave her a dollar.  Alas, it was soon time for me to leave, just as the party was getting started.  Did I mention I had a 3am train to Williamsburg, VA for a family reunion?  Yeah.

 

*The thing about WaHi… I’ve definitely walked about 20 blocks up Broadway and up St. Nicholas Ave. in tight pants many times on weekend nights and not been harassed.  But there’s a difference between walking up the street in tight pants and yelling obviously gay things belligerently.  I don’t think I’ve once felt unsafe in WaHi… except for then, and even that was more an annoyed feeling than an unsafe feeling.