Beige Must Die (part 1)

Bitter Commie Grad Student had written a Rant on a subject that is very close to the whole Ivy League Crew et. al. in one way or another.  This subject was Beige.  Basically, it’s a bunch of psudo-celebs, people who think they’re fabulous, and Banker Gays (in the general sense, not the specific clique that’s connected to us, though they seem to frequent and like it too).  Very stuffy and boring, at least for me.  Every time I’ve been dragged there, it’s been more or less against my will (i.e., somebody’s birthday).  If you haven’t guessed, it’s one of the things I’m not a fan of: Gay Night at a Straight Bar.

Bitter Commie got a lot of response to his Rant (definitely check out the comments) and subsequently made a Facebook event called “Beige Must Die”.  The gist of it was that we’d invade en masse and make it fun for ourselves, pretty much destroying the stuffy vibe for one night.  Somehow, I ended up wearing a very boring t-shirt and jeans to work that day (let's just say I keep a change of clothes at my desk), but I had just received a package at the office from my favorite website that I won’t disclose (stop stealing my style!).  One of the things I had ordered was a set of white linen(-looking) overalls. 

Should I do it?  Fuck yeah.

I had some down time at work, so I took a look at About a Boy and His Briefs’s blog, and it mentioned National Underwear Day.  Times Square, runway shows, giveaways for everyone, all day.  Within 10 minutes, I had plans to join up with Don Juan from San Juan (who works close by) and walk down to the festivities.  Long story short, we walked down there to find that it wasn’t in Times Square this year.  The website mentioned Espace very vaguely (no address or anything), leaving out that it was an evening event that required an RSVP.  Upon return to the office, I found a flyer on Gayz of Our Lives and sent it to everyone I knew.

After work, I met up with Loosefur (which was exciting b/c we almost never hang out in person) and walked down to Espace.  I had emailed my RSVP and called to follow up, and some phone-manning twink (that's how he sounded, anyway) said that I was automatically added to the list and that there was no confirmation email.  When we got to the door, we weren’t on the list.  Loosefur was first, and the girl told him to go talk to some other girl with a clipboard.  The same girl didn’t see my name on the list or my company, so I started on this rant about how I had emailed and called twice.  She stopped me after about 3 seconds and waved me in.  Sweet. 

Loosefur was not far behind, and we headed straight to the bar.  Jack and Diet for her (she mumbled something about corn syrup, but between you and me, she really could stand to shed a few pounds), cranberry juice for me *no clapping*.  We found a spot near the catwalk, and of course, Loosefur runs into a gaggle of Hell’s-Kitchen-to-Fire-Island Gays.  Loosefur introduces me, and I receive the most apathetic handshake I’ve ever seen (I know we're below 96th st, but come on). 

Eventually the Syndrome joins us, and the show starts.  Most of the men are extremely hot (as the should be when they aren't talking). Loosefur is going on about legs, I can't stop talking about ass, and the Syndrome is loving everything.  To be honest, some of the girls are really hot, too.  Everyone  seems to be into the red head, but my favorite is the brunette who maintains an expression of utter joy while she walks.  It's as if she's just discovered she's pretty and is living it to the fullest.  “The bandages must have just come off,” Loosefur joked.  

After the fashion shows, Loosefur is checking out the white guys.  She even temporarily expands her tastes.  My favorite snippet of the evening starts with, “I usually don’t get into Middle Eastern guys, but…” (I like to think I'm having a positive influence on her).  Meanwhile, the Syndrome and I have a "drunk" dance party (great DJ).  Oh, and don’t forget the ambushing of the servers with food (bitch didn’t eat dinner at the office)!

Continued below in part 2.

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