Turns out it’s the drunk Sailor screaming out of High Tea

I had this whole post written about 4^th of July weekend with my family in Williamsburg, Va as well as the following Thursday night out, but really, nothing blog-worthy happened besides me finding out that Lil Mama and I have the same great-great grandfather (her grandmother was at the family reunion).  That and the slight disaster of me deleting my full inbox on my phone b/c I had just met a boy (you know, endless giggly texting)… too bad that included the text to get into Spash for free.  See, you didn’t miss much.

Friday, I left work early.  Why?  Because I was on the way to Fire Island!  And whom would I be going to see?  Well, none other than the Architect, that’s who!  I managed to sneak out early enough to catch the 5:30 ferry.  I always feel weird about the food situation in the house, being a non-share holder (what does that look like, me rummaging through the house fridge), so I jumped off the boat and went straight to the overpriced grocery store to get an $8 turkey sandwich.  Plus it’s a long-ass walk to the Architect’s Seaside Palace (bay views are nice/convenient, but for me, nothing beats a 3^rd story view of the ocean… from which you can actually see the bay), and at the moment, I really didn’t feel like entertaining the housemate that took the same ferry as me on the walk out there.

 

Well, I got to the house to realize that it was the Young Boys’ weekend.  I had met the Young Boys at dinner once with the Architect (almost by accident), so they all were somewhat familiar.  A couple of them worked in my industry (of course, they were on the financial side of things, which is why they could afford a share on Fire Island).  I was sure it was going to be a lively weekend.

 

The Architect was on his computer doing something that didn’t involve lavishing me with attention, so I passed the time by making slightly awkward conversation (and made up for it with more-than-slightly-strong cocktail) with the Young Boys as they made preparations for dinner.  One of them got upset at me because I let the timer go off without telling him, which made the corn overcook.  Bitch, weren’t you in the same kitchen I was?  I must have missed the phrase, “Hey, D. Kareem, can you watch the timer for me?  Thanks.” 

 

Eventually, the Architect greeted me with an abundance of kisses, and I paid him back by making him a drink. Drunken Donut and the Sailor joined us for a few before we piled in the Gator to head to Tea.   Drunken Donut is one of the original housemates that I met last year (one of my favorites).  His hair is the exact color of a Krispy Kreme glazed one.   As for the Sailor, the Architect is working on a major addition to his and his husband’s Fire Island house across the way (the same one everyone was raving about last time I was out).  Not that he’s a professional sailor (that I know of), but every morning (and most afternoons) he propositions someone in the house to go sailing with him (you can set your watch by it).  Their 40-something presences helped to balance things out in the very young weekend in the Palace. 

 

So the (very tipsy) Sailor gets behind the wheel.  The thing about Fire Island is that it doesn’t so much have cars, so it doesn’t so much have roads.  Everything’s a series of boardwalks (that may or may not be in good repair… adventures on a stumble back from town could include tripping over a warped plank, avoiding loose nails, and dodging trick-hunting trolls) and dirt roads.  So we’re bouncing along in the back of the Gator.  The Young Boys stayed behind to wrap up dinner prep, but they had given the Sailor a list of supplies to shop for at the pantry.  Good luck.

(For those of you not familiar, the gays have this tradition of partying in the middle of the day, and for some reason it's called a Tea Dance.  Usually there's a reason for it being so early [ferry service ending at 11pm, it's Sunday, people are still coked up from the night before, etc.]).

So, Low Tea (which is lower in elevation than High Tea, but Middle Tea is just below High Tea and is after High Tea… I just learned this via an AIM convo with Loosefur, and I've been to Fire Island quite a few times) was almost over when we arrived, but that didn’t stop us from having a cocktail!  $9?!  Pre-gaming from now on.  Gatorade bottle in the Gator.

 

We end up being Tea Bags (i.e., the last ones left at Tea), and we make our way over to High Tea.  The Architect finds some people he knows after we get another cocktail (yes, yes, I know), and we end up next to this group of fabulous young gay boys.  Well, not that young, but Fire Island young.  The Architect was blabbing, being a social pterodactyl, and I was making new love-you-now-but-don’t-need-your-number friends!  We sang Trannity Kane and queened out much more than we had room for!  Eventually, the Architect was over her royal court, which was perfect timing for me because I definitely wasn’t trying to hold up dinner when I had no protein shakes! 

 

We’re walking to the Gator when I hear someone screaming my name.  Shit, this could be really awkward.  Turns out it’s the drunk Sailor screaming out of High Tea (we were a good 20 feet below on the boardwalk).  She and Drunken Donut tumble down the stairs to meet us.  “Um, what happened to the groceries?”  “Oh, the Young Boys had them.  I told them to put them in the Gator, but it looks like they carried them back!  Architect, can you drive?”  Shotgun!

 

We found out when we got back to the house that there were at least 5 gators in the same (dark) area outside Tea, and the Young Boys had most certainly not carried the groceries back.  However, after a (very swervey) trip back to town, they were able to recover the lost goods.

 

Dinner on the deck was delightful.  It didn’t start til 11, but with steaks, green beans, fresh (slightly overcooked) corn (mixed with some other stuff… I really should take notes when people are making dinner out there), and red wine, it was SO worth the wait.  There was talk of the underwear party, which I had remote interest in attending, but I wasn’t exactly ‘looking’ this weekend. 

 

We ended up throwing our own underwear party at the house.  Well, speedo party.  Everyone else was in the pool, but of course, I was on the deck.  Then someone was like, “HOT TUB!”  Shit, why not.  It was actually really nice with the starry sky and our loud drunken voices being the only sound in the night.  Then the rest of the house left the Architect and I alone to do things that made me glad he owned the hot tub.  Did I mention that the Architect’s kind of amazing?  Yeah.