Damn, the homosexuals are rollin’ deep (part 2 of 2)

(continued from the previous post)

(and btw, remember to click on the links in the text; they're an important part of the humor of the story [and I spend way too long putting them in for them to be ignored!])

We walk into the Dollar Store, and there’s a line of about 10 people already, so we know we’ll be a while.   There were all kinds of things in this store that just gave the oh-my-god effect.  The most memorable was the bin of 2-pack pacifiers.  Why was one open and missing one of the pacifiers?!  I feel so sorry for that baby.  So we get towards the front of the line.  This thugged out dude walks in to the store and looks us up and down.  “Damn, the homosexuals are rollin’ deep.  Wassup!”  We were all jaw-dropped and in shock!  He didn’t even say it in a mean or derogatory manner; he seemed to just be observing, thinking out loud.  As soon as we get outside (and safely out of earshot), here comes Bottomless Pitt: “He’s lucky I wasn’t drunk b/c I would have cussed his ass out…”  Yeah, let’s not start fights in another state.  I’d have to be like, “You with the fucked up teeth!  Help him fight this guy.  I had braces.  Sorry.” 

 

We pass quite a few more businesses that would advertise on daytime and late-night local tv if they had the revenue (including a 2-story building called Treasure Island, which turned out to be a storage place and not a porn shop… boo).  We finally turned on 1^st ave (they’re first ave, not the E.vil one), and within a few blocks, we were in the gayborhood!  A fat hag (or dyke) standing on her porch gave us a loud greeting:

“How you doin’!”

You know I couldn’t resist: “How you doin’!”

“Alright!”

“Alroight!”

Yes, honey!  Yeeeeeeeess!

 

(Morehead and BRITney are walking beside each other.  And Morehead doesn’t seem to mind BRITney’s smoking…)

 

We approached the Empress Hotel, the sign and name of which alone were at least 2 minutes of amusement, just past the retirement home (huh?).  On to the boardwalk.  About halfway down, we see this booth that says “Beach Entrance Fee $5”.  “Oh, yeah.  I think you have to pay to get on the beach,” advises Morehead.  Great timing, hun.  “I don’t pay $5 to get into Splash!”  So after we all bought our passes… “No, Urban Sprawl, you can jump the railing, but the Latino way may get you arrested, so let’s go with the white way and pay.”  There was a good minute and a half convo about where to pin said beach passes, which sort of resembled small nametags.  “Don’t put it on your speedo!  It’ll poke a hole in the fabric!  Pin it on the draw string.”  Or put it in your goddamn pocket after you show the guy at the gate. 

 

We pass the gay section of the beach because like every New York Gay, we think there’s something better if we keep looking.  No, that little patch of speedos is the gay section.  Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of gay boys out.  It’s just that they’re all compacted into about 30 yards of shoreline (as opposed to the hundreds that we were used to on Fire Island… or even Jones Beach).  Spread towel, check.  Sunscreen and not Oil of Olay bodywash, check.  “Pulpy orange juice,” check.  Time to yell at hotties.  “Oo, look at his ass, Urban Sprawl!  That’s bigger than Bottomless Pitt’s.  HELLO THERE!”  Sometimes they would look and smile.  I didn’t bring that much alcohol, so I didn’t bother offering (though they never take me up on it anyway). 

 

After pointing out (and pointing at and yelling at) hottie after hottie, we eventually decide we’re over it.  We head back towards the beacon of gay (i.e., the Empress Hotel) b/c apparently there’s some kind of pool party or something going on there.  Thank god Morehead’s memory served him correctly b/c we walked in, and it looked like a smaller version of all those pictures that the Rich Gays took at Disney Gay Days!  And the bar is where?

 

Drinks in hands, we stake out a few chairs.  Then the ‘lifeguard’ comes over: “Guys, there’s a $10 charge to use the pool and the chairs.”  Excuse me?! Which way is the goddamn train!  So then Bottomless Pitt drops his keys (oops!).  His Magic Booty Dust must have worked because the guy was like, “Well, in about an hour, we stop charging, so you guys are welcome to hang out at the bar.”  That’ll work.

 

I order a burger with BBQ sauce (b/c it was the easiest thing on the menu to pronounce and to throw up) with fries (of which I had about 3 b/c everyone, especially Urban Sprawl, was picking at them).  They had this pitcher of spiked lemonade for $25 that served 6, so I got 2 other girls in on it.  The pitcher comes, and it’s great lemonade, but after we pour the first 3 drinks, there was about an inch left at the bottom.  Oh, wait.  It’s a gay establishment.  Just like manhunt: divide by half and add one.

 

By the time we were done kee-kee-ing about the lesbian couple with the fake tits, an hour had passed, and the girls all dive in the pool.  I’m black, so obviously I stayed on one of the chairs.  This guy with his boys in the chairs in front of me had swimwear on from the same website that I did (damnit!), but his were white and apparently VERY see-through.  "Wow, those speedos are really cute!  Can I see them?"  He stands up (works every time) with his hand over his crotch (ugh), so I booed him.  This was seriously part of our conversation: “I hear an accent.  Where are you from?”  “What would you guess?”  “I don’t know, maybe Europe somewhere?”  “Nope.  Staten Island.” 

 

So that was the end of that convo.  Of course, Urban Sprawl is fretting over the train schedule 2 hours before the train comes.  He may have had the right idea b/c after a trip to the $5 ATM (no, really) and a couple of more drinks, we turned around and she was gone!  Do you really want to ride back to civilization by yourself?!  Part of me wanted to take the chance and stay for an extra 2 hours til the next train came, but we (literally) ran back through town instead.

 

You would think that a gay day at the beach would be enough, right?  Nope.  ‘Trish texts me:

She: What are you doing tonight.  Come by for a drink?

I: Can I bring people?

She: How many.

I: Maybe 10… already told them.  Love you!

 

After a run uptown to change and shower, I tromped up the stairs to ‘Trish’s apartment.  You would think a doctor would have air conditioning.  Nope.  But she had vodka, and that’s all that mattered.! ‘Trish explained to me that the boy he’s been dating/living with (who, btw, just turned 21… so ‘Trish will probably dump her in a week or two) has been working a night job.  ‘Trish has the month of June off, so he’s been partying it up, and the boy has been upset about it.  So I’m like, “Wait, that girl’s in something like her 1^st semester of sophomore year while you spent how many years in school?  And now that you have time off that you’ve earned over time through hard work, she’s mad at you for partying it up while she’s at work?  And you care??”  I see why I’m single. 

 

We end up drinking until about 1:30.  The rest of them were on a mission to Pieces, but there’s only one place I’ll show up to after midnight, and it ain’t below 96^th st!  No Parking was a good time, but pretty uneventful until the walk home.  A fruit fly (basically a nicer name for a fag hag) with whom I spoke briefly in the bar was sitting with her fruit in the small park just south of where Broadway meets St. Nicholas ave (basically right near 168^th) stuffing her face with McDonalds.  I stop and talk to the pair, thinking it would only be a quick hello.  15 minutes later, a car with 3 guys and a girl pulls up.  I’m like, fuck it, so I go talk to them.  The guy seems interested in me but then asks to speak to the fruit fly.  Huh?  She talks to them for like 5 minutes before she waddles back over, screaming “¡Papi! ¡Coño!” to a guy walking up St. Nick by himself.  At that point, I decide I can’t deal with consciousness anymore, so she gets my phone number, and I make my way back down St. Nick.  Did I mention it was approaching daylight, and I had a 1pm drunken brunch in the Village?  Yeah.