Swap Body Fluids Here

What’s a better house party theme than White Trash?  A baby shower for Bristol Palin and Jamie Lynn Spears!  Tag line: “Come Happy; Leave Pregnant!”  Hopefully CoLaw has already taken a copyright law lecture because Louisiana State probably still owns that saying.  CoLaw sent out a Facebook invite requesting that all guests come dressed as white trash, Republican.  Or pregnant. 

I wrestled with what to wear to this event because there are quite a few ways one could play this.  I ended up not even getting home to change until about 10:30, so I grabbed a pair of stretch jeans and a collared shirt that I had cut the sleeves off of.  Tie a bandana around my arm, draw in some facial hair, and bam: redneck in 20 minutes!

CoLaw was going for the Latin vote, donning bright red lipstick and a tattoo of her ex's name.  “I got 2 babies by 3 different men!  What!” Bottomless Pitt and his roommate, Double Dutch (from what I’ve heard, if you saw it, that’s the ony thing you’d be able to do with it… remember when we rode home with him from Fire Island?) came in matching tank tops and jeans. 

“What the hell was in that punch!  I had one, and I’m drunk!  Granted, my roommate and I have been drinking since 4, but I had some balance when I walked in!”  Bottomless Pitt somehow hadn’t spilled anything on his tank top yet. 

A few of the boys who had gone to see Choke made a rather late entrance.  The last one to come in was Bitter Commie Grad Student.  And what an entrance she made.

Apparently, he was supposed to be John McCain, but how can this read as anything but Bush!  The party stopped when he walked in, and, staying in character, went around the room and greeted the guests with a handshake and an accent.  To tell you the truth, Bitter Commie wouldn’t make a bad Silver Daddy.

I’m standing in the kitchen, and I feel something splash lightly on my back.  WTF?  I look back and one of CoLaw’s friends, who could barely walk in her heels at this point, was trying to make more punch.  She’s got a vodka bottle upside down, and it was mostly full when she started. “Suite, anyone?  Guys?  Suite soon?”

Remember what I said about Bottomless Pitt not spilling anything on her white tank top?  Yeah, nevermind.

“Oh my god!  In that room over there, there’s 4 guys going at it!  One guy’s sucking, and the other guys are slapping the guy’s ass with their cocks.”  Nice, houseguests.  Now I didn’t see this happen, but apparently a few of friends of the Ivy League Crew decided that one of the hosts beds was up for grabs.  This kind of made sense because a) the bottom was a friend of CoLaw’s staying there for the weekend (I think) and b) a there was a sign above the door:

It wasn’t long before CoLaw came storming through the living room.  “Everyone who was in that room, get the fuck out!  I don’t care if you were doing anything or not.”  She starts pointing, “You, leave right now!  You, too!”  Oh my.

D. Kareem: “Guys, we should all leave.  109^th and Amsterdam.  Let’s go!”

 

We got to Suite, and 3 of the 'performers' gave us an encore before taking their 'show' on the road (most likely somewhere east of 5^th ave). 

Bottomless Pitt’s night was almost as successful.  Well, he didn’t hook up with two guys at the same time, but he did end up making out with some “straight but curious” guy before ditching him for a slightly less cute, significantly more stable guy. 

I happened to run into a singer that I had met when I had first moved to the City over 3 years ago.  We hung out a few times, and I totally had a crush on him at the time, but a) he was with someone and b) I had self-esteem issues.  You should have hit on me then, buddy.  Not now.  I gave him my card with my myspace music link on it, and he asked me to sing.  You mean, like, right now?  To this song? Why is “Lady Marmalade” playing?  Why is “Lady Marmalade” playing every time I go to that goddamn bar?  I was going back and forth between singing seriously for him and joking with En Vogue.  Keep in mind I’m still in recovery from karaoke and drinking too much the night before.  

Somehow, whatever I croaked out must have sounded good over the track because he told me to come some performance he’s doing with some guys who run a business that books singers for weekend events that pay well.  “I’ll do my set and then bring you up to sing.”  What?!  Then again, how many times have I been flaked on by someone artistic.  And contacts made at 2am aren't exactly the most reliable.  Did I mention that I'm not a fan of empty talk?  Yeah.