Peace out, iDrone.

Oh look, D. Kareem can’t drink because he’s on antibiotics for the Clap!  Stupid boy at Baña.

I was geared up for a sober weekend (i.e., torture!).  Did I mention that weekend was Black Pride?  Under normal circumstances, I couldn't be bothered to pay the cover at Secret Lounge, a mostly black gay party (at a straight club?), because I found it to be hit-or-miss (of course, I hadn't been in a year).  But (Ho)Motown and Bottomless Pitt wanted to check it out, and if there was going to be a good weekend, it would be during Black Pride.  The music was great, but nothing really blog-worthy happened besides some girl trying to set me up with her Alvin Ailey choreographer friend, in whom I wasn’t interested.  Then she got mad when I didn’t immediately ignore my friends and start talking to him.  Fruit Fly, don’t bother me!  Even worse, all her other friends were cute as hell, but no trying to set up there.

On Saturday, I was determined to get an iPhone so I could take pictures at Black Pride for the blog.  Well, I was determined until I got to the Apple Store and they said they were out of [cheaper] phones, so they only had the [more expensive] model.  I stood in line for a voucher for about 5 minutes before I thought to myself, if someone handed me $100 to walk away and get a phone on later, I would.  Peace out, iDrone.

A few of us met up at Maracas for brunch with unlimited mimosas (or just brunch for me *clap clap*).  We wrap up just after last call for the unlimited drinks and head over to the Pier.  For some reason, I couldn’t find my beach sheet, so I had to share Urban Sprawl’s.  Did I mention that Urban Sprawl was shockingly drunk by this point?  I think Ernie had had a few drinks, which inspired him to taunt Urban Sprawl like a sadistic older brother (to the point where Urban Sprawl was whining “stooooop” like the tortured younger brother).  Most of this was happening while Urban Sprawl was half passed out (face down, of course) on his sheet next to me.  Rather than getting up to seek revenge on Ernie, he would just start convulsing, which usually resulted in me getting jabbed in the ribs. 

Side note: we have this joke about Beyonce’s “Get Me Bodied (the extendedly gay remix)”.  When she says “Naomi Campbell walk,” we usually walk like we’re in handcuffs, recalling the cell-phone-throwing incident.  Also, Bunifa is rumored to have thrown her phone (among other solid objects) at people.  Urban Sprawl, when he's drunk (i.e., every 2 days or so), likes to act angry or frustrated about something happening around us and proceeds to act like he’s going to throw his phone.  Mind you, he’s dropped his phone so many times that it looks like a map of the Nile with all the cracks.  This may or may not be related to why he’s on his four(teen)th camera since I’ve known him. 

Back to the story: after Ernie had stuffed about a pound of grass into the back of Urban Sprawl’s “speedo” (read underwear), he got up and started chasing Ernie.  Urban Sprawl throws his phone, and like any gay boy trying to throw something besides an insult or shade, he misses.  And hits a concrete wall.  Well, it used to be a flip phone.  And are those severed wires hanging out of the side?  Oo, girl.  

Urban Sprawl’s yelling, “Fix my phone, you Jewish consultant bitch!”  Ernie’s still stuffing grass down Urban Sprawls crack when he’s not looking.  Bottomless Pitt and Bitter Commie Grad Student, who had left post-unlimited margaritas to check out a place in a trendy neighborhood for Bitter Commie to move to, come back and finish off Urban Sprawl’s (untouched) water bottle of vodka.  Eventually, Urban Sprawl calms down and spoons with Pubic Finance, whose boyfriend was nowhere to be found. 

Meanwhile, I had realized that my habit of yelling at people was not, in fact, alcohol-induced.  This one hottie walks by with overalls (but only with 1 strap) and a ridiculously low V-neck.  I yell a “Wooorrrrrrrrk!” to him, but he has his headphones on.  He stops to rest on a bench near our mess.  Every so often, I would smile or wink at him.  Just to be an ass, I invited him along to Pieces for happy hour with us, yelling it across the width of the Pier.  He smiled and said, “I don’t speak English.”  I figured from his (beautiful) skin tone that he was Latin, but before I broke out the como tu estas, someone said “What language?”  “Russian!”  Out of nowhere, Pubic Finance starts spitting out hammers and sickles.  And fluently!  Vladimir comes over, and they start talking.  He joins the crowd but barely gives me a second look.  Whatevs.

Where’s Urban Sprawl?  That girl must have pulled a ninja again.

We get to Pieces, and 5-foot 8x6 is screaming orgasmically as we come in.   After about 5 minutes, Bottomless Pitt realizes he needs to go to the ATM, and I join him b/c I could seriously use some gum.  We may have been gone for about 7 minutes.  As soon as we walk in the door, our friends are giggling, “When you guys left, Vlad was like, ‘Where are the black people?’  Looks like he really likes you guys!”  Interesting.  I’m really not one to compete with friends, so I sit back and let Bottomless Pitt handle this one. 

After a couple of drinks at Pieces, the group meanders to Pubic Finance’s place in the E.vil.  Ernie was determined to listen to more of my music, so I lent him my laptop to listen.  Everyone enjoyed more vodka-based drinks, except for Vladimir, who doesn’t drink, and me *clap clap*.  After about 15 minutes there, Bottomless Pitt informs me, “Vlad is all yours.  He talks to much, and I can’t deal.  I don’t care how pretty he is!” 

Surprise, surprise, Vladimir had done some modeling.  He tried to logon to what looked like a Russian Facebook, but Pubic’s computer was giving him trouble, so I missed out on his portfolio.  Soon thereafter, he had to venture back to (another surprise!) Coney Island.  We exchanged numbers and a surprisingly lingering hug.  I told him he should meet up with us for Black Pride tomorrow.  Why did I invite her?

The rest of the crew was being lame, so Bottomless Pitt and I ditched and went to Chi Chi’s.  Must have been a popular night because there was a line outside of about 10 people.  Miss Pitt was not having it, so we went to the Hangar instead.  Unfortunately, we had missed the sign that said 40+ night (waist, not age).  A Latin go-go with a perfect ass was up on the platform dancing, but he was soon replaced by a very nicely built black guy.  Bottomless Pitt said something about the go-go's dick being the perfect size for his “second” time bottoming.  The go-go must have seen me craning my head around the fat guy to see his crotch.  He looked at me and smiled mischievously.  I was so caught up with the fact that such a pretty boy was looking at me that I totally missed him pulling up his shorts to expose his cock!  “Shit!  Did he just…”  “Yup! You fuck around with that eye contact if you want to.”  Great. 

Eventually, Bottomless Pitt finished her drink, and we walked to the subway.  It wasn’t even midnight yet, but did I mention the Black Pride Beach Event was the next day?  Yeah!