And out comes Liza.

Friday, there were all sorts of emails flying around on Facebook about where the girls were going that night.  I, however, was accompanying SoHo Crush to see Liza at the Palace!   

After guzzling down 3 half-price drinks (each) in an hour at the Ritz ,we walked over to the Palace.  Everyone had these sippy cups.  “What the hell?  This is outrageous!  I’ve never been able to drink in a theater.  Screwdriver, right?”  SoHo Crush returned quickly with my souvenir.

I felt right at home doing my awful Jewish Long-Island accent in this crowd (SoHo hates my Jewish Long-Island accent).  And, of course, most of the audience was gay as gay could be!  I had, for some reason, slipped a cheap fan from the previous night’s gift bag into my coat pocket.  This wasn’t the kind of fan that flips out with a crack at the flick of your wrist.  Nay, this fan was more like crimped cardboard.  And I was queening out with that cheap fan, which was totally appropriate considering the audience was oozing gayness. 

Now, in case you didn’t know, I should say that I’m not that kind of gay (i.e., the Liza kind).  Until I moved to NYC, I had only heard passing references to Liza on TV.  She’s not exactly a staple in most of black southern culture (it’s not exactly one of those ‘universal’ things).  I could have pointed out her picture, and I may have been able to name Cabaret as her movie.  But the little else I’ve learned of her has been since I moved here (mostly while I dated SoHo Crush).

Lights dim.  Curtains rise.  The band comes in from the wings on a moving set into a sort of on-stage bandstand (much like Chicago).  And out comes Liza.  

From the first note, I could tell she was couldn’t have been more joyful than she was on stage, and the audience’s adoration only augmented her elation.  About 5 minutes into the show, I realized that the backdrop of her set was a huge purple triangle.  Love it.

During the intermission, we got more drinks.  And SoHo Crush managed to snatch my fan and throw it in a trash can behind the bar.  My rage lasted about 2 sips into my drink.  We weren’t even the worst of the alcoholics: this one gay/hag couple came back through the seats with 2 sippy cups.  Each.  Luckily, they were sitting right by us.

The show ran over 2 hours, but it only began to feel long about 3 songs from the end.  All in all, it was a great show. 

Soho Crush had made reservations at a great restaurant that we had been to before.  The boys were planning to go to a birthday party in Jersey City for an Ivy Leaguer whom I had just recently met.  The latter of the two seemed like more of an adventure, and when SoHo didn’t seem to disturbed by my desire to venture, I made my way to the PATH train (i.e., hell in a hand basket local transit to Jersey City).

I get out at the Grove Street stop.  Then. My. Phone. Dies.

I’m stranded in JC after 11, and I have no way of finding this place or contacting anyone I know.  Luckily, the iPhone only teases when it seems to run out of power, so I had just enough juice to look up the address of the party.  Urban Sprawl had texted me about alleged popcorn shrimp, but when I arrived, all I saw was a greasy platter with crumbs.  Thanks. 

Long Island Gays represented, but they left early (trashed!).  It ended up being random friends of the host along with Urban Sprawl, Med School Mess, and I.  We eventually decided that the three of us wanted to go to No Parking, so we figured out when the next train was leaving.  An extra-strong drink and a coughing fit later, we were running to make the PATH (if we missed it, we would have been stuck for like 20 minutes). 

And we spent forever at the Hoboken stop.

We finally got on NYC transit and made our way uptown to spend about 40 minutes at No Parking before it closed.  Did I mention I’m never leaving the City again?  Yeah.

Read about a better Jersey experience here.


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You guys can have the rest of this if you want

Anybody wanna go to this $25 open bar fund raiser on Tuesday?

Number of friends on the email thread who said yes: 5

Number of friends on the email thread who showed up: 1

As soon as I walked into the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Turns out it was Hillary Ho.  Hillary Ho and I had actually met at this same bar, Aspen, around a year ago when Hillary Clinton was running in the Primary.  Which may reveal how politically aware I was/am because I don’t know or care know if the Primaries were even going on a year ago.  Anyway, we originally met at an open bar party for gay boys sponsored by Hillary’s campaign.  We had met a few times sporadically (and even randomly) after that.  Well, since Morehead didn’t show up until about an hour after I did, Hillary Ho was the only person I knew at the party (outside the DJ and the host… but I have a rule about that). 

I chatted with her and her friend with TSWB syndrome for a while.  We were in the back area until Hillary Ho said she wanted to “move through the crowd so I can rub people inappropriately.”  Oh my.  As we headed to the front, I almost tripped over Morehead (I didn’t see her down there!).  I tried to engage her in our convo, but she was too busy getting phone numbers (including one from a guy who admitted to having a boyfriend with no ‘arrangement’).  

When I finally caught up with her, she told me about her recent trip back to New England.  Apparently all the boys she went to college with (who, no doubt, are stuck still in the Boston area), who didn’t give her a second glance back then, wanted to jump her bones now.  And she seemed surprised.

“At least you had gay boys to reject/ignore you at your college!  I’m guessing you hit the books pretty hard in college, right?  And didn’t really work out much?  And now you have a six pack, and they’ve fallen apart since y’all graduated.  It happens every time! But I bet you fucked them anyway.”

Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last sentence.  Anyway, that convo evolved into our discussing the guy(s) that I know that she’s hooked up with, including a certain boy who really shouldn’t be available for such encounters.  Not that I hadn't heard about this boy going astray before, but I didn’t know this unavailable boy shat where he ate.  Sloppy, sloppy.

The fundraiser had a raffle, but I decided that between the “donation”, the tips for the (god knows how many) drinks I had had and the amount I had spent going out 5 nights in a row the previous week that I should be a bit more cash conservative.  Then Morehead wins 2 tix from Jet Blue.  Bitch.

Then I went to Karaoke at Pieces.  I don’t remember much, but I woke up next to some Russian that knows Bottomless Pitt. 

Thursday was an open bar party at Marc Ecko.  Because I definitely needed another one of those.  They had a list at the door, so I walked over to get checked off (I doubt they were turning people away).  On the top of the list, I see one my fav bloggers: Jesse Archer!  Is this the month of meeting bloggers in person or what?!  I knew it would be a superb night out.

Right off the bat, I run into Random Oracle.  We procure our first drinks, and Bottomless Pitt shows up just in time for our refill.  Did I mention she’s recently made a habit of vokda on the rocks?  Yeah.

Random Oracle and his friend hang with Bottomless Pitt and I through quite a few more vodka drinks.  Apparently Undergear was sponsoring this party as well because out of nowhere, 2 models come out in their underwear.  A random white twink (redundant, I know) and a hugely built Latin guy.

I didn’t want to be rude, so I took a picture with both.  I guess I wouldn’t push the twink out of bed.  And the guy on the left may look white here,

but he definitely looks Latin here.

Urban Sprawl shows up but prefers to abstain from the free name-brand liquor and save himself for the $2 frozen (well) margaritas at View Bar.  HUH?!  But it may have to do with the fact that he had just come from the MTA holiday party which featured open top shelf bar and tons of food.  And strippers.  PS, they’re raising our fairs.

(Note: because I know Urban Sprawl cannot let any statement be declared without exact precision and accuracy, even for the sake of plot or humor, I will state that he claims to have paid for their holiday party.)

At one point, a random guy starts talking to us, telling us that people working the door beckoned him off the street as he walked by.  He mentioned a gift bag, which I had totally forgotten in the invite.  The 4 of us rushed to the front of the store where we saw an official-looking guy holding one. 

“Excuse me, are you the keeper of the gift bags?”

“Oh, are you gonna butter me up if I am?”

“Oh, no!  If I were going to butter you up [arm around the shoulder, sexy stare] you’d know.”

Talk bad about me if you want, but I got the last gift bag.  Free drink tickets to HK bars, check.  Week pass to David Barton gym, check.  Delta Goodrem CD (love her from my time in Australia!), check.  FREE MEDIUM-SIZED UNDERGEAR UNDERWEAR, CHECK!

“Sprawl and Pitt, you guys can have the rest of this if you want.”  Aren’t I a good friend?

Sadly, the boys were starting to get bored with the venue around the time they started the underwear auction, and I still hadn’t seen the esteemed author, Jesse Archer.

Well, View Bar seemed rather sparse, but that might be because we got there at 9:00 rather than the usual 10:30.  We ended up at Splash pretty close to 11, so nobody was downstairs.  I took advantage of the extra space and flirted with the DJ to get him to play “Like Me” (because I haven’t gotten to ‘perform’ that dance in months!).  I have to remember what lucky underwear I was wearing that night because I was getting everything I wanted: Girlicious only had to wait 2 songs.

And look who comes prancing through the dancefloor: Hottie Jailbait from Bronx Newbie’s party!  Shirtless.  Hott.  Now I wasn’t doing anything to provoke: I still had a tanktop on, and I barely said hi.  Out of nowhere, ass on my crotch.  Very nice ass on my crotch.  Hand on his six pack.  Smooth skin, slightly sweaty.  It was pretty intense grinding, and I was beginning to think that he was wanting to take it further.  Really, D. Kareem?  He’s not even old enough to drink.

  

It was so surprise when he said he was “going to get a drink” and that he’d “be right back.”  I didn’t even set the timer on my phone for that one. 

Did I mention my new underwear fit great?  Yeah!

To find out why I hated Hiro, click here.


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Who the hell is Chelsea?

Brunch?  Maracas?  45 minutes from now? 

Fucking Urban Sprawl!  She knew I couldn’t turn down that offer.  I met up with her and her two out-of-town friends (whom I had been introduced to the night before) at the aforementioned venue about 45 minutes before last call for the open drinks on a Saturday.

Convo, convo, wuh oh oh, on to Pieces we go.  Luckily Urban Sprawl’s friends refrained from the unlimited drinks because they hopped in their car back to that city that Harvard’s not in.  We arrived at Pieces to find 5-foot 8x6 behind the bar.  He was shrieking all kinds of obscenities in delight (“AAAA! Single Bottom on the loose!  Who wants another drink!”) and telling us to “say when” while he poured the liquor. 

For some reason, I had it stuck in my mind that we needed to go to the Eagle that weekend.  Urban Sprawl couldn’t deal, but a couple of the other girls had met us at Pieces. 

“Oo!  We should totally go!  I have to go home first, though.  I wanna get my leash.”

Who invited her?

Med School Mess, Bottomless Pitt and I made our way over to Secret, which is free before 11 (who knew!).  And whom do I see across the bar?  The Great White Hype, that’s who.  You mean the Great White Hype with whom you had quite the flirty text volley a few months ago and then got too “busy” to meet up?  That’s the one.  You mean the Great White Hype that whom, a couple of weeks prior to the night in question, you texted twice and who gave you no response?  Damn, dude, I think they get the point!

Anyway, the Great White Hype is there, and I hate him because he’s just as hot as before.  Then “Single Ladies” comes on.  And I can’t not do the dance to “Single Ladies” when the Ivy League Crew is around.  Did I mention I'm wearing Uggs (okay, they were a knock-off brand, but the point remains the same)?  Did I also mention I’m (mostly) a top?  Yeah, he’s never gonna talk to me again.  But when I go over to talk to him, he's very nice and even introduces me to his two (black [of course]) friends.  Bastard.

Stop snickering about that mostly-top thing. 

Speaking of guys D. Kareem may or may not be crushing on, I was very surprised to see Chelsea Rover at Secret!  Especially since I think I may have made an ass of myself the last time I saw him.

“Chelsea, hey!  How’s it going?”

“Who the hell is Chelsea?”

“You are, right?  Didn’t we meet each other through—“

“Urban Sprawl.”

“Oh.  Right.  Shit, you’re totally Random Oracle.”  I proceed to rattle off facts about him in a lame attempt to redeem myself.

“Yeah…”

I really need to not mix up the tall Asian crushes in my life; there really aren’t that many.

Soon thereafter, we had had our fill of Secret.  Oh, looky there: the Eagle’s only 1 block away.  Tada.

Destiny’s Child (Med School Mess, Bottomless Pitt, and I) walks into the Eagle topless, and I’m still wearing my Uggs.  But it’s butch b/c I took off my shirt (right?!).  Oh my god.  I thought she was joking about the leash.  I don’t remember anyone talking to (or groping) any of us.  Wait, that’s not true. 

Bottomless Pitt has recently decided that she wants to make cowboy boots her thing.  [Insert passive-aggressive comment about copying me here].  Anyway, she’s wearing her jeans tucked into her black cowboy boots, and there’s this guy in his underwear beside an elevated chair.  He grabs Bottomless Pitt with a “nice shoes” and beckons him onto the chair.  What followed was a theatrical display of erotic foot worship mixed with shoe shining.  Nothing that surprising as far as the Eagle goes, but it was certainly a sight to see. 

Did I mention there was a posting on my Facebook wall the next morning?

Great to see you last night. ♥ Chelsea.

Shit.

If you like Bears, click here.

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“Fuck! You slapped me!”

Nobody does thanksgiving like your family, which is why I’m glad my family lives pretty nearby.  As I mentioned before, my mother was in town staying at her mother’s place (Dad was on duty at the plant... he's basically Homer Simpson).  Dinner was scheduled for 3 and started around 4 (which is kind of amazing because it's always late as hell). 

That’s how my family does Thanksgiving.  And that's not even including the rolls, a couple of other veggies, and the desserts (we all love the sweet potato pie, but my dad's mother's rum cake is slap-ya-grandma good!).

Later in the evening, my mom and I headed over to my dad’s brother’s house to visit with that side.  My two lawyer cousins were there, so all the questions and stories about parking tickets and moving violations came out (even though they both practice intellectual property law).  It was all a very good time, and we definitely didn’t have enough time with either side.

MicHELLe texts me: Posh at 11.  Get your dancing shoes!

I respond:  Why not View first?  $2 frozen margaritas.

It was a pretty basic night after View Bar.  MicHELLe and I did our “Just Prance” performance, the Syndrome flirted heavily with at least 3 guys, and the DJ gave me a few flirty winks throughout the night.  A text that I don’t remember sending to SoHo Crush tells me we ended up at the Ritz.

Friday was much more memorable.  In the evening, I took my mom to see Catch 22 on Christopher St. (which was great… except for the full frontal male nudity… in front of my mom… for like 7 minutes!).  Luckily no past hookups were lurking outside the Hangar when we walked past on the way to the train.  I got Mom to her train, and headed  to Chelsea Hotel, where I was surprised to find such a short line at 10:30.  This was exquisite because because just about everyone I knew was there.  I gulped down 4 free drinks and was pleasantly surprised when the DJ switched from gay music to pop!

I was standing across from MicHELLe and behind Rutgirls (whom we haven’t seen since 6 Flags… she’s been studying hardcore for make-ridiculous-amounts-of-money exams) at one point.  MicHELLe gave Rutgirls a rather curious look, so I was signing tall-skinny-white-boy syndrome behind Rutgirls’s back.  Rutgirls turned around about halfway through, at which point I went into the “Single Ladies” dance.  It was pretty obvious that I was talking about her (especially since "Single Ladies" wasn't playing), but I figured it was like any other joke I’d make with my girls.  Well, Rutgirls definitely didn’t take it that way, and she said something about me making fun of her.  I laughed and said something dumb, thinking she wasn’t serious. 

All of a sudden, I'm facing a diatribe about how I shouldn’t be making fun of my friends.  She grabs her coat, and storms off into the night.  I was stunned.  Is this what the kids call drama because I’m really not familiar.  I dug back in my mind to my time in purgatory working in sales, which taught me that one should look at what one can control in a situation rather than blaming things one can’t.  Another is that one should present solutions rather than problems when one has an issue.  Keeping this in mind, I put down my drink(s) and sent a damage control text, apologizing for making Rutgirls feel bad and telling him that I recognized that I could have handled the situation more tactfully (e.g., when he turned around, I could have immediately said something like, “Haha, we were just joking about TSWB syndrome, how’s that working for you?”). 

Since there was nothing I could reasonably do at this point, I tried to continue to enjoy my night.  The open bar was over, and it was getting crowded.  Everyone wanted to dance, so I suggested XES because nobody would be there (as I learned the week before from Uptown Brown’s celebration).  We could go in 12 deep and take it over.  The Long Island Gays weren’t ready to leave yet, so they said they’d meet us there later. 

Somehow between the dancefloor and the door, 12 turned into 4.  That’s not quite enough to take over a bar, so I reluctantly agreed to go to Pieces. 

This turned out to be a good thing because D. Kareem ran into Suede, who was extremely friendly!  And just a defensive aside, the only reason D. Kareem knows who Suede is is because D. Kareem dated SoHo Crush during the that season of Project Runway.  

Pieces was pretty crowded, and they had put up their holiday decorations (as you can see).  Somehow, Bottomless Pitt and I (mostly Bottomless Pitt) ended up talking to this drunk guy and his female friend for a half hour.  He got annoying, and I subtly slipped out of the conversation.  As I walked away:

Guy: “Oo!  Let’s go talk to awkward people!”

Bottomless Pitt: “Honey, I’ve been doing that all night.”

Of course, he didn’t get it.

Shit, nobody told the Long Island Gays we didn't go to XES.  Oops!

So then later, this same kid invades the rest of the Ivy League Crew.  I don’t know what exactly happened because I missed the first part (trying to avoid him).  From what I could piece together, he had playfully slapped Urban Sprawl.  Then Med School Mess slapped the guy.

Guy: “Fuck!  You slapped me!”

Mess: “Um, you slapped him.”

It didn’t turn into anything messy, but homeboy continued to be annoying throughout the night.  Eventually he wandered off before one of us had to close a fist.

Me texting SoHo Crush at 12:30am: Hey, where are you?

SHC: Emotionally?

DK: If I could reach through this phone and choke you…

SHC: :) I’m in bed.

SHC: Can I help u?  R u lost?

SHC: 8^th ave goes north

DK: Such an ass.

SHC: Thank you.

See what I have to deal with to (not) get ass?  Did I mention that Rutgirls and I are cool now?  Yeah.

Read about another Celebrity Encounter here.


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Music Review: T-Pain

T-Pain is an artist that I’ve admired since his break-out single “I’m Sprung”.  The Akon protégé has gained quite a bit of respect in the music industry, putting out 2 successful albums and collaborating with a long list of A-List artists.  He recently put out a third album, Thr33 Ringz, which I also snagged for free at work.  The spelling of the name makes me want to hurl, but I gave it a listen anyway.

T-Pain opens with “Welcome To Thr33 Ringz Intro” where he puts on a cocky rapper persona (apparently he was originally a Rappa Ternt Sanga), spitting lines like “Styles change up like Lil Kim’s face”.

He then goes into the first song, “Ringleader Man”, which comes off as redundant after the intro.  The song seems to juxtapose his frustration with the commercial music industry and his influence over it.

“Chopped N Skrewed” is a dedication to the late hip-hop semi-legend DJ Screw of Houston.  He uses elements of DJ Screw’s signature style of slowing down a record and “chopping” it by making it skip and repeat rhythmically.  The lyrics are about a girl leading you on and subsequently thwarting your expectations in a club situation (and who hasn’t had a “girl” do that to them).  Ludacris’s contribution is just okay.  Far from his best work.

The first song that made me want to dance was “Freeze”.  It’s a hip-hop song with a delightfully playful track that features an unexpected beat box interlude after the verses.  Honestly, I have trouble differentiating between T-Pain and Chris Brown’s voices (between the auto-tune and the nasal quality they both have) unless I really concentrate, so it’s hard to say what he adds to the track besides the name.  The transition between this song and “Blowing Up” is very cool because it sounds like one is a continuation of the other.  Unfortunately, by the end of the second song, I was a little tired of this theme.  “Blowing Up” could have definitely been a postlude to “Freeze”, but we love Ciara.

“Can’t Believe It” is a cool song, but I’ve heard it way too many times.  Why is the cover of King Magazine something to aspire to?  I’m pretty sure those models don’t get paid for those shoots.  And T-Pain is from Florida; why is he trying to attract girls with frigid locations like Toronto and “Wiscansin”?  And Lil Wayne sounds like he’s having an auto-tuned stroke.  I have to admit, hearing it on quality speakers does make it much more appealing than on my alarm clock radio (every morning for 2 months).
 

To get the idea of the next song, picture this: you’re at Chi Chi’s (or whatever dive bar) enjoying the scene.  A guy comes up to you, and after a minute of talking, he suggests you buy him a drink.  Excuse me?  That’s exactly what “It Ain’t Me” is about, except from a rich straight hip-hop perspective. The ever-entertaining T.I. does it again on this track (“T-Pain, where’d you fin' this ho!”).  BTW, that’s a true Chi Chi’s story from more than one person I know, but it’s never happened to me.  Guess I don’t give off that rich-guy vibe with my well-liquor screwdrivers.

Ever been so driven away from someone that you’ve thought “I don’t need your sex; I’ll masturbate”?  This I’ll admit: “Therapy” spoke to me.  Sure, he does the corny thing where he counts to four and then does a line that rhymes.  But he does it really well!  The counting really doesn’t fit into the theme of the song (therapy tells you to count to 10 not 12, right?), but whatever.  The fact that it still flows is that much more impressive.  And Kanye West brings it as usual.  He’s so damn clever!

Next on the tracklist comes “Long Lap Dance”.  Another strip club song?  What is his mother thinking?  I have to hand it to T-Pain for making yet another slow jam that I could actually listen to at the gym.  I just wish he would have collaborated with my favorite stripper ternt rapper, Trina.

I hate it when artists tie interludes into the same track as a song.  Especially if the interlude is whack (have you ever seen me use the word “whack” on this blog?  Right).  Honestly, I think artists should leave the interludes to the funny (see Redman) or the wish-it-were-a-full-song (see Danity Kane).  However, after the first minute, “Reality Show” turns into a cool song.  It features Musiq Soulchild, and the track sound like it was written specifically for him.  Raheem DeVaughn and Jay Jyriq don’t ring a bell, and honestly, they’re contribution to the song is take-it-or-leave-it for me.  I’m guessing they’re brought in to win points with the Neo-Soul crowd that this song caters to.

Whether they do or not, every singer wants to prove that s/he can sing on an acoustic track and use chords and still sound amazing.  “Keep Going” does just that, but thank god this was only an interlude (runtime 2:14).  Yawn!  That’s definitely not what I was looking for when I ‘bought’ this album.

T-Pain pieces together his dream woman in the next song, “Superstar Lady”.  “Thighs like Angelina, Aguilera, Christina.”  Maybe Angelina’s known for her thighs (I’ll give her Tomb Raider), but as far as I know, Christina’s definitely not.  Also, who is Young Cash, and since when do rappers only do 8 bars?  That definitely could have been cut.  But it’s a fun track that moves.

“Change” is one of those if-this-were-a-perfect–world songs that I’m way too jaded to appreciate.  T-Pain uses a part of Eric Clapton’s “Change the World” (despite my culturally disadvantaged state, I recognized the chromatic line, but I had to google the artist).  I had to listen the song twice to find Diddy’s part (which is the spoken intro… I thought it was T-Pain’s voice).  Mary J Blige was the perfect choice of collaboration for this song.

“Digital”  is a fun, mid-paced song more or less in the southern rap tradition.  After my first listen, I had no idea what the song was about.  A second listen didn’t reveal much (I got this; I got that).  I have no problem with a look-at-me hip-hop song, but the track behind this song didn’t grab me, so I wasn’t left with much. Tay Dizm spits a rap on this song.  Whoever he is, he’ll probably have an awesome career south of Atlanta (if he doesn’t already)!

For the closing song, T-Pain’s cocky rapper persona is back.  He’s basically calling out people who are stealing his style and calling it “Karaoke”.  “Grab your microphone; set your auto-tune.”  True story: he set a trend, and people jumped on it.  The first person that came to mind was Lil Wayne, but he gives Lil Wayne a shout-out on the record (no surprise since everyone in hip-hop is on his nuts and he appears with T-Pain on his lead single… sell those records, dude!).  He gets Terror Squad’s DJ Khaled to scream over the track, adding to the intensity of the rap-persona swagger.

I think this was a pretty solid album.  T-Pain gets primary writing credits on all his songs ($) plus sole production credits on every track ($$$).  I’m a fan of his style, so the album was a pleasure to listen to even though not many songs stick out as singles.  Let’s just hope we don’t have to endure too many live performances.

Suggested Tracks:

It Ain’t Me

Therapy

Maybe:

Chopped and Screwed

Freeze

Reality Show

Long Lap Dance

And I’ll keep “Digital” since it’s free.

an effort to avoid inter-clique awkwardness

For Thanksgiving, I got Thursday and Friday off from work.  So logically, Wednesday is the new Friday, and Tuesday is the new Thursday!  That’s what I told myself as I proceeded from Posh’s happy hour to The Hangar’s 2-4-1 til 2am with tOWGA. 

Me: “You’re having another?  Are you gonna be okay to drive?”

tOWGA: “I’m not sure.  Maybe you’ll have to drive.”

*scoff* “Maybe you just need some time to sober up.  Bartender!”

Text from Morehead: At Pieces… I’m hugging the ATM machineeeeeeeee!

I couldn’t decide which was worse: the fact that the M in ATM stands for machine or that he had held out/repeated a silent vowel.

Wednesday at work was fun (not), but I stayed at the office later than intended to work on music.  I dragged my weathered ass home between going to the gym and hopping a train/bus to the Almost East Side to help MicHELLe with her Manhunt profile (with a couple of cocktails, of course). 

“So that’s basically how it works.  But Adam4Adam is free.”

“Wait, really?  Then why the hell are we on Manhunt?”

“Honey, if you can swim with the sharks, you can swim with the fishes!  Plus, it’s good to be familiar with the leading name brand.”

I helped him get set up (and he even got a couple of emails) before we cabbed it over to Suite.  It’s not every Wednesday that the Ivy League Crew can get together for a night out, so I suggested we check out their Karaoke.  The thing is, Suite has karaoke every night except Friday and Saturday, which means a) karaoke is hugely popular among the Columbia gays or b) they couldn’t think of anything else to do because nobody goes anyway (which means it’d be super easy to get a ridiculous song in). 

I went in expecting a drag queen host, but it turned out to be a real girl (I think).  She was huge, sassy, and wearing way too much make-up, so close enough.  MicHELLe and I were first to arrive from the Crew, so we poured over the books looking for a song.

 

After listening to William Hung butcher Frank Sinatra’s My Way (I call him William Hung, not because he was Asian, but because he sounded just like him… except worse), we took the floor for a couple of songs.  We also enjoyed $5 blue margaritas and $3 long island shots!  Then the real reason why I suggested Suite came out.

“Hey, guys, No Parking’s having a huge party tonight.  Anyone down.”

Tutti: “Let’s go!”

Throughout the night, the guys wandered around the bar.  Something was in the air because it seemed everyone was getting some that night, including two members of the Ivy League Crew et al.  From.  Each.  Other.  Now, I’m not one to cock block, but maybe I should have made an effort to avoid inter-clique awkwardness rather than laughed my ass off when I saw them go out the door together. 

Urban Sprawl (clueless): "D. Kareem, why don't you share the cab with them."

Me: "Okay, a) I'm just downtown from here and b) no."

Then this cute, youngish guy started checking me out (I think… I can never remember how things get initiated when I’m involved).  We talk a bit, and the whole time, he has this corny (yet still kinda strangely sexy) sideways smile.  I find out he’s originally from Long Isand: Well, that explains the smile: he’s just a douchebag. 

On the way to his place in the Bronx (don’t judge me), I ask him about a scar on his neck.  Turns out he had a tumor when he was younger that left him partially paralyzed.  That could have been (more) awkward!  Luckily, most of the paralysis had worn off long ago (except in his smile). 

On my cold/windy/hung-over commute home (2 busses and a train!) I get a text from one of my slutty friends from the night before that contained some great news!  Did I mention I won $10 from a bet?  Yeah!

For another awkward situation at No Parking, click here.


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too crowded; too homogenous; and too gay

No, nothing ever happened with the blast from the past!  But it was nice to see him.

My mom flew in on a Saturday, so I went out to Bumfuck Egypt Hollis, Queens to go see her at my grandmother’s.  She picked me up at Jamaica Station, and we had a great talk on the way back.

“So, I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while now.”  Great, here it comes.  “Are you seeing anyone that I should be introduced to?”

“No, not anyone.”  I answered a little too quickly.

“Oh, sorry. Okay, next subject.”

“Haha, no, I’m just not really seeing anyone seriously.”
“Well, is your social life good?”

“Oh, yeah!  My friends are great!”

Wait, what did she mean by “social life”?  Damnit!  

If that seemed a bit ambiguous, I'm out to my 'rents.

I should explain that it's likely that this convo took place in this way because my older brother was the player of all players.  He would bring a different girl to every family function.  Most of them were really great, but they rarely lasted more than two events.  He did this for years (specifically, from his mid 20s through most of his 30s) until he introduced us to a very nice girl at my dad’s family reunion for the first time a couple of summers ago.  The next major family event was their wedding.

The rest of the ride to Hollis was pleasantly uneventful, and watching my mom and my grandmother make fun of each other shortly after our arrival reaffirmed where my sense of humor comes from. 

“Your mother must be spending all winter with me.”

“Mother [my mom and her brother are the only people I know who address their mother as ‘mother’], my bag is not that big!”

“You packed that much for a week?”

“Well I had to bring these sympathy cards for you!”  Why is my mother smuggling a box of sympathy cards in her luggage from SC for my grandmother?  When she took them out of the suitcase, it didn’t make that much difference.  “All I brought were [list of clothing items].”

“You still can’t pack.”

“Well, how about next year I stay my butt in South Carolina, and you can come visit me!”

I could tell this was going to be a great thanksgiving. 

That Sunday was the big Pre-Thanksgiving dinner.  Bronx Newbie was hosting and had asked everyone to bring something.  I was really getting into it because it was a) a practice run for the cookies I wanted to bake for actual Thanksgiving and b) an excuse to party all day (and still get to be at a reasonable hour)!  I decided to take an active role in making sure that the Ivy League Crew had good representation at this event, so I texted the girls: I’m going to Bronx Newbie’s place at 3.  You coming? 

Well, after running around WaHi and Hamilton Heights trying to find  cookie sheets ("ecooking sheet?"  "No, a cookie sheet!"), 3:30 turned to 5.  Half of my cookies ended up burning at the bottom.  I haul my cookies up to the Bronx to find that most of the food was gone.  Between my tardiness and my lactose intolerance, I was restricted to turkey and (burnt) cookies. 

After stuffing my face, I caught a glimpse of total hotness on the other side of the room.  I was talking to Bottomless Pitt as he walked by me, so I turned to him and very plainly asked his name.  We struck up a conversation, but 2 minutes into it, he revealed that he was still in college and majoring in something finance related.  Done.  Next.  Bottomless Pitt engaged him for a while longer, but I couldn’t deal. 

Boy, pointing to a subway map:  “I live right here, and I work right here.”

Pitt: “Well, I live right over here.  See that.  We’re in the same neighborhood.” *flashes smile*

Me:  “I can’t.  I need a drink.”

So then someone put on Danity Kane.  Bottomless Pitt and I worked that one out (she's really learned quite a bit of the dance!).  Then someone put on “Single Ladies”, and Med School Mess knew a surprising amount of the dance.  It was somewhere around the 2^nd verse that I realized I was definitely not getting laid at this party.  What was really bad was when I got begged to do it again (which is kind of a corny thing to ask, but even cornier to actually do). 

Around 7, the liquor ran out, but it took about an hour after that for the troops to rally and figure out the next step.  Bottomless Pitt grabs my arm, “Get your coat; we’re taking the D down to 59^th st.”  On the way, I find out that her friend is having people over on the upper west side.  Bottomless Pitt had only managed to get Urban Sprawl on her way out.  I didn’t know what the stipulations of the invite were, so I didn’t want to invite anyone else since I hadn’t been invited by the host.  But Bottomless Pitt said we should get MicHELLe to come to.  Then MicHELLe turned into an additional 3 people for a total of 7 of us.

After a long-ass train ride and a trek past the projects, we realized that this guy’s place is a studio the size of a small living room.  He was very hospitable and accommodated his unexpected company quite graciously.  He had a small bottle of tequila, which we finished before heading to 1Oak ("No, Kareem, not 10 Oak.").  

While we were in the lobby of the building waiting for everyone to get it together, this really hot Latino guy walked past us and out the door.  Urban Sprawl's tongue was on the floor.

The oh-so-trendy guys who work in "fashion" insisted on taking a cab (which, if we didn’t have to worry about flagging down 3 or 4 cabs that far west, could have worked out cheaply), but the Ivy League Crew headed straight directly for the train.  Urban Sprawl and a friend were walking about 15 feet ahead of us, and we passed by Hottie Latino at a phone booth.

Bottomless Pitt (loud as hell): "Urban Sprawl, the guy you were checking out before is using a pay— Ow!  Why'd you hit me?"

D. Kareem (hissing): "Because he's 3 feet behind us! "  1o paces later: "You know all the stores this far west are closed now!  That's a long walk to buy a re-up for your pre-paid!"

God, we're catty.

As soon as we walked into 1Oak, I could tell it was going to be a little too much like Hiro for me: too crowded; too homogenous; and too gay (music wise).  We were there for about 5 minutes (just long enough for Bottomless Pitt to run to the loo and douche) before Pitt, MicHELLe and I ditched the others for Küte. 

After quite a bit of hair tossing, yelling, and dancing, MicHELLe decided to go home while Bottomless Pitt and I finished our cocktails and headed to XES for Karaoke.  Peppermint was delightful, as always.  The singers, not so much.  The highlight of the talent was a guy who got on stage with a really weird opera/broadway voice that no one listened to because we were all cheering for Peppermint, who as slowly taking off his shirt. 

Some Euroboy was beside us with an amazing ass stuffed into jeans with no back pockets.  We spent half our time watching him drunkenly jump around.  I spent the other half trying to stop Bottomless Pitt from grabbing/slapping/biting an amazing ass stuffed into jeans with no back pockets.  The two of us started to build a nice rapport with a really cute cub, but he was moving somewhere in the Midwest the next day.  As much as I’ve been into cubs/bears lately, I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s last hurrah. 

Fuck, it’s 2am!  Did I mention I have to work tomorrow?  Yeah.

Click here to read about a drag-queen disaster!

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" (now on the right) and the Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.