Monday, March 30, 2009

crap, not in front of his mother

I really don’t remember much of the first weekend of March.

Friday was Urban Sprawl’s 29th birthday, so she had everyone meet up at Dallas BBQ after work.  I had my reservations about this because BBQ is notorious for not seating you until your whole party is present, and they don’t take reservations.  I know these gays well, and I guessed that few would be on time.  But somehow, she secured us a big enough table for everyone to fit.


And she brought her mother.  
(That was someone else's balloon.  Urban Sprawl's closer to 31.)

I tried not to curse in front of Mrs. Sprawl.  I really did.  But when all your friends’ middle names are Bitch, that gets really challenging.  And once that Texas-sized frozen apple martini with the extra shot starts to hit, it’s over.

Urban Sprawl had also invited his real-girl friend, College Girl (class of ’90-something?).  She and Urban Sprawl met through grad-school connections, and she’s always the life of the party.  College Girl had brought her much more mild-mannered fiancée, and it was apparent as soon as I sat down that the table next to her that she was starting to feel her very large drink (and that she was not used to very large drinks).  About 5 minutes after I sat down, College Girl’s fiancée had taken her drink from her and insisted that I take her extra test-tube shot.
 
With College Girl on one side and MicHELLe on the other, the dinner was nothing but a total giggle fest for me.  At one point, I got everyone to stop blabbering so I could make a toast to my comrade:

“Urban Sprawl is a dear friend and the reason why most of us know each other.  Let’s raise our glasses to long life, good looks, and lots of di— [crap, not in front of his mother] uh, drinking!”

This was around the time that I remembered that I was planning on meeting Pecs at Baña that night, but I had forgotten my bag with my flip flops and speedo.  I downed a drink right before we paid the check (which is not easy to do when it's 15 or 20 oz and frozen) in case there was a long line at Chelsea Hotel.  Of course we didn’t get to CHotel until 10:05, and of course the line was ridiculous. 

Urban Sprawl: “We’re good.  Med School Mess and her boyfriend left early to save us a spot.”
Me: “Bitch, there’s like 10 of us.  That’s not gonna work!”

Only 4 of us actually went in line.  The others somehow found a way to cut the line and go in ahead of us.

I was bitter until I got the following text from Urban Sprawl: I’m in, and I got a drink waiting for you.
Now that’s a good goddamn friend!

I left CHotel around 11 to go back up 150 blocks (on a local train!!), grab my bag, and I trekked back down about 200+ blocks (still local) to the Financial District.  I had told Pecs to meet me there at 12:45, and it was just after 1.  It seemed like a good excuse to talk to the two half-naked guys at the front desk, so I asked if they had seen “a black guy with a British accent” had come through yet.  No luck.  So I took pictures to pass the time.



The hot-but-cunty clothes-check guy was working with a buddy again (I later found out it was his boyfriend), which may have explained why he’s been so delightful the past two times I’ve gone to Baña.  Did I mention he’s actually a pretty well-known porn actor whom I probably shouldn’t be calling cunty?  I seriously do need to come up with a better name for him because I’ve never seen him be cunty outside of the first couple of times I went.  Plus he’s really hot. 

Anyway, I got changed and went downstairs to tinkle (that was a long train ride to be holding it!).  As I walked into the restroom, I heard the distinct and unmistakable smack of wet pelvis hitting ass.  A not-so-subtle look around a corner confirmed that some twink was, in fact, getting stabbed in the shower.

I got a drink, I went to the steam room, I checked out the pool, I eavesdropped by the Jacuzzi.  I don’t remember talking to anyone.
 
Pecs showed up around 2.  Real. Nice. Hun.

I remember most drunk nights in a series of flashes.  My shutter speed must have been ridiculously slow, because I really only remember grabbing Pecs’s arm and pulling him into the VIP area towards the end of the night to watch rich guys fuck.  I don’t even remember whether I got a good show (who am I kidding… It’s Baña after 3: of course I got a good show)!  But I do remember Pecs leaving before they turned the lights on.

Did I mention that the next day’s text from Pecs: Hope you made it with the big dicked black guy… I almost got tempted, lol!?  Who?

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2 comments:

Urban Sprawl said...

Thanks Kareem. I was bit worried about BBQ but it was thanks to College Girl's fiance's smooth-talking that secured us the big table.

"I’m in, and I got a drink waiting for you."
A good moment as any to cue the Golden Girls theme song.

LOL, and thanks for blurting out my chronological age. On RealAge, I'm 19.4 and yes, I know about that river in Egypt.

The Blackout Blog said...

Blurting out your real age? I did nothing of the sort. I just narrowed it down. Blurting out your real age would be if I said you were born in 19—

*a dart from nowhere shoots D. Kareem in the throat*