I rarely look at a go-go’s face

“Hey, guys!  Let’s go to a straight bar and pay $30 for an open bar that I heard about through one of my new roommates!”

“Oh, you mean one of the new roommates who convinced you to drag us back to the Chelsea Hotel after the open bar was done?  I think I’ll pass.”

That’s how the facebook thread that Bittar Commie Grad Student started should have read.  But the rest of the Ivy League Crew seemed mildly interested in the party.  On the bright side, it was an event for a well-known fashion company, it was something new on a Thursday (not that I’d drink $30 of liquor on a school night… intentionally), and after my birthday disaster, I’m not really in a position to shoot down anyone else’s party suggestions for at least another couple of months.

I’m kind of excited because I’m sure there are bound to be tons of fashionable drunk people, and most people in the fashion industry are gay anyway, right?  I race home after work and change into something cute and edgy and get downtown a little after 10. My cute/edgy outfit got a little conversation (flirting?) out of the guy working the door, which led to a drink ticket! Now, the facebook invite I got said 7pm-4am.  But apparently whoever made the event failed to mention that the open bar ended at 10.  Bitter Commie Grad Student, Bottomless Pitt, and Urban Sprawl were standing in a circle looking not-too-pleased.

“Hey, y’all.  How you doin’!  Mwah, mwah, mwah!  So is there a plan?”

“No.”

“Y’all are standing around a straight bar on a Thursday night without an escape route?  Here, let me gulp down this drink, and let’s go to View bar!”

5 minutes later, Bottomless Pitt and I are power walking to the subway (the other two somehow got delayed… but they’re big girls; they know how to get there).  We walk into the very crowded bar, and Daddy Bartender sets down my drink with a wink.  The others start trickling in, including BRITney with another one of her [fill in 3-digit integer] ex-boyfriends of 08.  I hear they’re coming out with a calendar.

Drinking, talking, singing… hair toss, lip gloss, laughing.  “No, you boys have fun at Splash.  The working girl needs to go home.” The next day, I saw something on Facebook about Caleb sandwiching 2 guys from Splash.  How does one person sandwich 2 people?  Wouldn’t he be getting sandwiched?  I don’t ask questions anymore.  Anything’s possible with that girl.

Friday, Arm’n’Hammer emails me that he just moved to my neighborhood.  I met Arm’n’Hammer thought Fung Wah before they had moved in together (as friends… I think).  Apparently something went down (I didn’t even ask), and Arm’n’Hammer moved out.  I suggested we meet up with all the girls at Chelsea Hotel and then hit up No Parking, which makes no sense logistically, but she agreed.

I arrived at the open bar about 20 minutes late in a ridiculous lace-up tank top.  Fuck it; I have no one to impress in that bar, and summer’s almost over!  I say hi to the girls (with a screwdriver in each hand), and Ernie shows me a text on his phone very enthusiastically. 

From Hot-Ass Asian Guy D. Kareem Met on Fire Island: Coming to Chelsea Hotel.

    

Great.  Not only am I seeing the guy (who is very much dating material) that I haven’t seen in 3 months while wearing the most outrageous thing I’ve worn all (a little after) summer, but I’m also kind of dating the guy of my dreams.  Great.  Fucking fantastic.  Bartender!

Of course, I don’t’ see Chelsea Rover (he parks one of the biggest SUVs known to man in one of the most convenient neighborhoods for public transportation ever… who does that!) until I have both of my second set of screwdrivers in my hand.  And I’m definitely more than buzzed after killing the first two in about 10-15 minutes.  I’m sure I made an ass of myself when I finally ran into Chelsea Rover, but I got his number.  Wooorrrrrrrrk!

After that encounter, I definitely couldn’t deal anymore, so I grabbed whomever I could and raced to the door bound for No Parking.  I finally looked back when we got to the subway station, and realized I had collected Arm’n’Hammer and Urban Sprawl.  Not bad.  Of course, Urban Sprawl finds it entertaining to tell me after I piss off the end of the subway platform that as an MTA employee he could have gotten a key to the station’s bathroom.  Thanks, hun.

We get to No Parking around 12:30, and I introduce our newest WaHi resident to Costello (sans his Escandalo partner, Abbott).  At one point, I’m introduced to a Morningside Heights writer who's doing a write-up of gay life in our neighborhood.  I almost drop my drink laughing when he asks if there's anything else gay going on in the neighborhood.  Then I remember Escandalo Nights, so I introduce Costello once again. 

The highlight of the evening comes when the go-go from my gym (I wouldn’t have even recognized him unless he had said something to me in the locker room… I rarely look at a go-go’s face) gets on the bar.  He comes out in a very special pair of underwear, and I can’t let the opportunity pass.  “’Scuse me!  Bardtender!  I just need a lime.  Quickly, please!”  I tip the go-go and ask him to turn around.

Is that rosebud I see?  Yeah.

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