They like me; I pay never!

After the somewhat disappointing Friday the week before, I was definitely ready for something new.  TTT and Company had checked out a party called Rockit on 55^th between Broadway and 7^th.  Mighty far east for the gays, but why not.  Of course, what sealed the deal for me was the hour of open bar.

 

On Friday afternoon, Calipornia (who writes the hilarious Manchattan blog) had left a Facebook status asking if anybody wanted to do happy hour.  He’s a much braver man than I because you never know what type of awkward situation you may find yourself in if that super-awkward friend of a friend is the one person to respond.  Or copy down your mobile number from your Facebook page and text you because he knows that your not so into the Facebook thing (i.e., you may not respond to a Facebook message at the gym... because who does that... shit.). 

So I texted him, Hey, it’s D. Kareem the Blogger.  Got your # from Facebook.  Should be out of the gym around 5:45 if you wanna hit up a happy hour.  Pick a bar.  In HK but flexible on the west side. 

. o O (This is going to come off really cool or really sketchy.)

 

10 min: no response.

20 min: no response.  . o O (maybe he has AT&T.)

30 min: no response.  . o O (he’s probably out of the gym by now, and he hasn’t responded.  Shit, he totally thinks I’m sketchy for getting his number off Facebook!)

50 min: no response.  . o O (why is my life so awkward?)

1 hour and 1 min (my phone finally vibrates): Oh, D. Kareem Blogger – phew thought it was 1 of my other kareems.  Honey, I’m white.  Anyway let’s try Vlada.  Txt when u leave the gym.

 

. o O (You’re still awkward.)

. o O (Shut up, you!)

 

Calipornia and I met up around 6 and ended up having a great time talking about where we were from, our times in New York, how he and Justin (of Justin +1) have been trying out a bunch of new twink traps venues because Justin’s newly single and Calipornia’s even more also single.  Three drinks and 2.5 hours later, we were giggling over a pair of burgers and a shared order of fries (beach season!) about how Luckys had no apostrophe. 

 

Me: “You gonna check out this Rockit party?”

Porn: “I’m up for it.  Are you gonna have time to get all the way home and back?”

Me: “Well, I’m definitely not bringing my gym clothes to the bar.  Besides, it’s express til 10:15.  I’ll be fine.”

 

I hopped on the train, did a quick change at my house, and hustled back downtown, making it to the party around 10:10.  No line, and not too crowded.  Urban Sprawl greeted me (with two drinks) before I chassed over to the bar myself. 

 

“We’re only doing one drink per person.”  Excuse me?  

“Did you go to the guy bartender?” Urban Sprawl asked.  “He’s the one who gave me two drinks.”

“Oh, I definitely went to the guy.  He must have thought you were white in the bad lighting.”

 

The girl had no problem giving me two drinks. 

 

By 10:25 or so, it was a fight to get to the bar.  A 5'4" white friend of TTT’s that I had met a while ago had weaseled his way to the front beside me.  I was talking to him, and the bartender served him first, which was fine by me.  He ordered 4 drinks.  No problem.  I finally got myself 2 drinks from him.

 

To propose that this was an act of racism would be utterly preposterous.  More likely, he just had something against tall people (Urban Sprawl's like 5'7" in heels).  I actually feel a bit guilty, benefitting from tall privilege all these years.  Luckily Lina, the DJ, was playing 90s hip-hop (“a game of horseshoooooee!”), so it was pretty easy to get over the reverse discrimination.

 

After my reminder of where I stand in the gay Scene, I ran into TTT and some guy he was fucking a friend of his, and everyone went upstairs to where they were playing pop.  Luckily, I ran into Z the blogger!

 

We talked briefly before he asked me if I wanted a drink. o O (DUH!)  He was gone for a bit longer than one would expect it to take to procure a drink, and if he hadn’t left Brian the BF with us, I’d’ve thought he had flaked.  “I return with drink for you!  Funny bartenders!  They like me; I pay never!”  Okay, that’s not really how he talks, but he does have an accent (calm down, Bottomless Pitt; he's Turkish). 

 

Urban Sprawl and I ended up leaving just before 2 for The Hangar (of course) to catch their 2-4-1 special.  I didn’t feel like having yet another Saturday where I couldn’t move, so I opted for cranberry juice instead.  It’s surprisingly dark without the vodka!

 

Why did we see Bottomless Pitt at the bar already picking up some dude at 2:15?  She only goes to the Hangar for their 2-4-1, so she had just gotten there. We took a seat beside the happy couple at the bar and started on our drinks. 

 

5 minutes later, Pitt turns to me: “Well, my Egyptian guy likes you and your hair.  FML!”

 

10 minutes later: “I’m going with him to smoke.  We’ll be back.”

 

I texted: You don’t even like smokers.  Come in and have your second drink.  That earned me a “shut up, you did the same damn thing with Litre-hosen!” upon her return.  Touché. 

 

It was another 20 minutes or so before Bottomless Pitt left with King Tutt.  I texted: Cum back kid.  No response.  

Then Urban Sprawl missed her train home.

Did I mention that the next day Bottomless Pitt's Facebook status mentioned him having bloody knuckles?! Yeah.

For no good reason at all, check out our last Asbury Park trip.  Click here.

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