I used to be straight. Okay, no, but I used to be straight-acting. No, that’s not it either. But I did date girls in high school. One of my (2) exes from high school (I can’t even really count her because she was the summer between high school and college) was in town visiting from South Carolina and wanted to catch up. I texted her that the boys and I were meeting for brunch in the Village and she should join us. I gave her the address, and she said she’d bring her mom since she knows the city better. Huh? After I gave her a short disclaimer, she informed me that gay boys who drink and curse and such are totally okay with mom. Cool.
On a mid-70s Saturday, my body woke me up way too early (which has been the trend lately), so I actually showed up on time... Okay, so I was 6 minutes late, which was enough for Bottomless Pitt to send a where-are-y'all text.
Of course, we had no idea how many people were meeting us at 1:30, and of course, everyone was arriving from different destinations (at varying degrees of Gaylight Savings Time).
I showed up to this in front of Maracas.
Not hemmed, rolled under. BTW, It wasn't until halfway through brunch that I noticed that Morehead's tank was spandex. This bitch went to the gym, showered, and then changed into the spandex tank for brunch. Wow.
As we were waiting for everyone to arrive, my real-girl ex texted me that she and her mother were parking. . o O (Why the hell did they drive from Jersey City... That girl pushing the baby carriage looks kinda like my ex. But she didn't mention—)
Now I knew she had had a kid (she could barely fit her belly in the Ruby Tuesdays booth when we met for pregnant lunch at the end of my single ‘07 trip to SC), but she definitely didn't say anything about bringing the little one “up nawth”, let alone to drunken brunch. I guess the sooner kids learn to accept our culture, the better.
The staff scrambled to accommodate our group of 20 (no joke) in a timely manner, and Maracas' brunch was as fun as we (barely) remembered last summer. At one point, Ms. W texted me from across the table about the whole birthday thing (the staff sings, party lights go, and you get a shot and a piece of cake with little fireworks as they play "La Bamba" over the speakers). We had done this for Bitter Commie Grad Student's birthday, and that's when we realized that they charge something like $12 for that shit! I turned around and yelled, "this bitch already got TWO nights in her honor. There's no way I'm paying for some sparkles and a song. But if you guys want to split it..." I ended up having to chip in a good $7 more than I should have had to in the end, so it's a good thing there wasn't more confusion with the fuzzy group math.
Around 4:30 (how the hell did it get so late?!), the ex and her family left (unscathed?), and the gays ambled over to the Pier.
We lay our towels/blankets/etc. down and began to crack open the Gatorade bottles. I happened to be sitting right near Med School Mess, who is known for her, ahem, self-medication, and Taye Diggs, who… well, he’s just Jamaican. “Oh my god, Urban Sprawl,” I whispered from the side of my mouth. “Is that a nugget? Of weed?!" I quickly picked it up to give back to my friend, but that’s when I realized that it was a different type of grass: actual grass. I guess the lawn on the Pier had just been treated because these little nuggets were all over the place.
"So last night, I was at Rockit, and I met this random friend through fellow bloggers. Why did he know "Single Ladies", too!"
"Oh my god, that was me (sic)!"
It was dark, and I'm bad with names. Oops.
About 5 minutes later, whoever brought the stereo (that's how we roll; it's the club on the Pier/beach) put on "Single Ladies". Not only did we have an unprecedented number of dancers (unfortunately, I ended up being Beyoncé… only Bottomless Pitt knew the other dancers' part), but some dude filmed us. Picture 5 queens stumbling through choreo while the rest of their 15-person entourage (a few met us after brunch) wails the hook.
The stranger with the camera put it on YouTube.
MicHELLe decided she needed a new Adam4Adam picture,
but that got invaded.
And why did Bert show up (sans Ernie) with a see-through shirt? Doesn't she have a husband?!
No ma’am, no farmer’s tan here.
Eventually, we packed it up and headed to Pieces. 5-Foot 8x6 seemed a bit aloof, but that might have been because he went from the usual 8 happy-hour patrons to more than double that in a drunken minute.
After meeting SoHo Crush in the area for dinner with his friend and friend's boyfriend, he and I headed back to Pieces. During dinner, SoHo had dubbed our beloved bar “Fecis” (much like thesis/theses pluralization), and we continued to yell this moniker down Christopher St. and into the bar.
Apparently it was go-go karaoke.
And apparently the go-go was enjoying it as much as we were.
SoHo Crush was being lame and left to go home, so I gave him my bag to take back to his place… What? He was headed there anyway!
Next (it was a very busy Saturday), we headed to Rosebud’s for his Spring Fling party. Once again, they were out of mixer. And once again, I had to go to the store to get some. Next time I’m not even bothering with liquor for Rosey’s. Just juice. I put down my bottle of vodka in the kitchen before the mixer run, and that was the last I saw of it (full or empty).
Some took the Spring Fling idea more literally than others.
“This party needs something,” said the Pharmosexual, a young doctor who works out a lot.
“I’ll take off my shirt if you take off yours.”
What? I like to get him shirtless!
PS, it worked.
Oo, I almost forgot that there was beer pong!
Because we’re still
undergrads straight-acting (sarcasm aside, I’d give up talking to the hottest guy in the room to get in on a round of flip cup… with liquor, of course).
The night concluded with Bottomless Pitt's and my hitting up the 2-4-1 at the Hangar (again). We ran into Principal Skinner, who pointed out a very loud personality in the back of the bar as “some kind of porn star”.
I haven’t seen him, but something about him said public figure: no blurring necessary. I’ll be checking Nubian 101.
You can see how over it Bottomless Pitt became…
…but she started to warm up after her she finished her second.
Did I mention I had been invited to a dinner by a fellow WaHi resident the next day and that I was dragging Bottomless Pitt with me (for very strategic reasons)? Yeah.
I'm feeling corny today. Maybe I should say something like, "Put a ring on it with my review of Beyoncé's I Am... Sasha Fierce. Click here.
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