a frenzy of text messages and whispering

The drama was not over. 

Dateline: Chelsea Hotel, New York City.

“Hey, are you guys here for Corey Craig’s birthday?”

“Uh… sure!  Yeah, totally!”

"Oh come on, dude."

"What?  We come here every week.  But happy birthday to him!"

“Okay, well, smile for the camera!”

What just happened?  Am I going to be pictured in the back of HX next week?  Did he get my good side?

Turns out Corey Craig is one of Chelsea Hotel's DJs and is DJing that NYC Pride '09 Pier Dance that we can't afford.  I knew that name sounded familiar!

I go to refill my drink(s), and Dina Lohands sidles up to me at the bar.

“Darling!  Hellllllloooooooo!  Look who I have with me!”  And whom did he have with him?  None other than Skyy Scraper.  I gave a friendly greeting and carried my drink(s) back over to our table, reporting to the girls what I had seen. 

About 5 minutes later, Urban Sprawl disappears for way too long.  When he comes back with Skyy and his friend (all 3 were in the same grad school program), I’m getting introduced to the friend of the guy who a week ago was told not to talk to any of us.  Well alright! 

Skyy Scraper and his friend wander off.  Then MicHELLe wanders off.  I should mention that over the past couple of months, MicHELLe and Skyy have become quite chummy, and Urban Sprawl hasn’t been happy about that at all. 

“Where’s MicHELLe?”

MicHELLe’s absence had definitely become palpable after the first 15 minutes.  Off Urban Sprawl goes to catch them in the act… of talking.

Well, you guys get the point.  It was a frenzy of text messages and whispering and eye rolling.  We finally got the hell out of there (not before Urban Sprawl attempted to use a small glass candle holder as a shot glass... with hot wax still in it) and went to Pieces where, within 5 minutes of entering, I was felt up twice (and not by anyone in whom I was interested)! 

But I made it a (somewhat) early night because the next morning (okay, early afternoon) was Med School Mess’s birthday brunch at Maracas!

I showed up about a half hour late (as per usual with Maracas brunch), and everyone was just placing their orders.  It was half Ivy League Crew and half Med School people at the table, which made for an interesting dynamic (to say the least).  MicHELLe and I had to make an extra effort to include everyone in the conversation.  For whatever reason, people didn't get it when we would sing half a riff or say 3 words and bust out laughing.

Eventually, the gay boys parted ways with the Med Students (we kept our Mess but lost PhD) and went to happy hour at Pieces with 5-foot 8x6 behind the bar.  Thanks to her heavy pouring, I ended up spending the rest of the day (and most of the night) teetering on the verge of sloppy drunk, so again, my memories turned into a series of flashes.

SoHo Crush came and had a couple of drinks with us.  He later texted: You’re cute when you’re drunk.

We ran into this random guy and must have made a good impression because he invited us to his birthday party.  And we must have been wasted because it was in Washington Heights.  And we went. 

Preparing for beach season on the way:

Apparently, it's not as easy to say, "That's real nice, hun!  That's. Real. Nice." with your mouth full as one would think.

We realized once we got on the train that it wasn’t even 9 o’clock yet.

Bottomless Pitt: “We don’t even know this dude, so we can’t show up to his party before 11!”

Me:  “Dude, it’s a house party, not The Roxy!  We should be good if we show up at 10.”

So we stopped by Suite to pass the time.  And arrived just in time to polish off the last of the liquor (as if we needed more).

It turns out the party was a 20s theme, and a lot of people had dressed up.

There was champagne.

And bendy straws. 

Our random host was so excited that we showed up, and it turned out that 5-foot 8x6 came as well!  We socialized with the festive crew of guests until about 11:30 before the Ivy League Crew went to the Ritz.  Which was cool except that it was the weekend (crowded).  And they play house gay music on Saturdays. 

I, on the other hand, walked down the street to No Parking with 5-foot 8x6 and a friend of his.  It was packed as hell, and we had to wait in line way too long for the temperature that it was outside.  That's what I get for showing up at 2.

I always thought that 5-foot 8x6’s antics and screams were just an act to liven up the bar (an act that I much appreciated).  But no, he’s like that in real life, too.  I was in tears when he told the guys behind us that he was a virgin, and the fact that he had to pee like a race horse didn’t help my composure.  After about 20 minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore and hopped a cab to the east side with his friend.  Literally a minute later, I got in. 

After about 10 minutes, I ran That Guy.  We've all seen That Guy at least once before.  You know, the tall one with the perfect body who always has his shirt off (and shades on) and makes sure the whole bar sees him dancing.  Nobody talks to him because they’re either turned off or intimidated by his larger-than-life persona.  We’ve flirted a couple of times, and he always calls me over when he sees me.  And he’s always wasted.  The two of us start dancing.  Possibly making out?  

All of a sudden, my pants are unbuttoned, and he’s trying to reach into my underwear.  “Hold on there, buddy.”  The outside is fine, but watch it with the inside!  He’s sensitive!  So then he takes my hand and puts it on what I thought would be the ass of his jeans.  Or underwear.  Nope.  His next words are, “Put it in.  Just go ahead and put it in.”  God, I have to go (get another drink).

So we separate.  I come back over and dance with his very tall somewhat bearish friend (who is kinda cute and much more laid back).  I wander off again, and we find each other after they turn on the ugly lights.  He invites me back to his place in Inwood, and I’m game, but something smells fishy.

“Hey, you know if I come back with you, we’ve gotta play safe right?  Like use condoms.”

“Oh honey, no.  I don’t like that safe shit.”

“Ah, okay.  I can’t go there, man.  Have a good night.”

Damnit!  Did I mention he had a really nice ass!  Yeah.

Saturdays are pretty ridiculous, but check out a wild Sunday adventure here.

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