yelling at straight guys

It had finally broken 80 degrees in NYC, so you know the Ivy League Crew et al had to take advantage. Around 2:30, I at Sheep's Meadow in Central Park and was amazed by the concentration of people I saw on the grass. Really, the only place one could actually see grass was in the very middle of the Meadow where the shirless straights were playing with balls and frizbees.

Imagine approaching this scene, trying to meet your friends. You pick up your iPhone (because you're gay in NYC) and dial. Voicemail. Dial. Voicemail. Dial. Voicemail. Did I mention AT&T has sketchy reception EVERYWHERE on the Meadow? Yeah.

Luckily, Urban Sprawl's Sidekick came through (Verizon, of course), and he directed me as only an NYC-obsessed urban planner could.

Within minutes, I was in a speedo watching a pool of "ultra sweat-proof" No Ad SPF 50 drip into my navel.

As usual, (when I wasn't trying to catch my breath between [not] harmonizing, cackling, and making indecipherable sounds with MicHELLe) I spent most of our park time yelling at straight guys who didn't know I was talking about them. A new real-girl friend, Latifa (we met her the week before through Morehead... people say she looks like our friend Bunifa), not only violated some poor straight's football,

but she also flashed us a tit! Well I never haven't in a very long while. 

Recognize this bottle?

Someone was toting Carla Rossi white.  I didn't even know they made a white!

When the sun began to fade, I suggested we hit up Pieces before heading to the early rooftop party in Astoria (Queens) that Tighty Whitey had invited us to.

"Well, Dina Lohands went to go get mixers for our vodka."

"You sent Dina unsupervised on a mission that you want accomplished? Love her, but she's probably in TriBeCa by now. She ain't thinkin' about no damn mixer."

45 minutes later (still mixer-less), we mobilized to leave the park. Urban Sprawl insisted that we go to the East Village for half-price sushi. I suggested... basically anything in Hell's Kitchen since we were basically in Hell's Kitchen and the E.vil was opposite the dirtection we were headed. Logic? No? Fine.

On our way out of the park, Ernie (sans his partner, Bert) and a few others (about half our group) said they were going ahead to Astoria. That made sense to me, so I went with them.

While making a transfer, I left the group to get a Vitamin Water (I hadn't really hydrated all day). I came back, and everyone was gone. The train had come, and everyone got on board, likely saying my famous quote: "She's a big girl; she'll figure it out." 

And that's exactly what I did. In Manhattan.  I'm not a fan of showing up alone to a party hosted by someone I don't know.

When I got back to Manhattan, I got the following text: left wo u to brdwy. dont hate us. 

My response: I figured. 

Then I got: Where'd you go?... dinner under the broadway stop. 

My response: went to Manhattan. 

His response: you could have said bye. 

I was *this close to texting: You could have waited, but it later occurrded to me that not everybody heard me announce that I was going in search of hydration. Whatevs.

Then I got Urban Sprawl's angry text (reproduced as written): well anytime I invite anyone to queens no one goes but Tighty Whitey and yall follow like sheep. Fuck you all. Not even from here. Cmon really. I KNOW where to go.

And how did I respond to that? "5-foot 8x6! Can I get another? Thanks, doll." Yeah, I don't do drunk group fuck-you texts.

After grabbing dinner with SoHo, who couldn't have me over because he had a guest in town who turned out to be an ex ("it would be awkward" as he put it... And hey, I'm not exactly his boyfriend), he misconstrued "give me money for your part of the cab fare, and I'll take the cab over to the Lower East Side" for "give me money for said ride." Needless to say, that $5 misunderstanding didn't go well. I just said "fuck it" and walked the half mile (with my bag) to the party.

. o O (D. Kareem, you really do not need to be walking into this party of people you don't know with an attitude.  Let’s make a good first impression, even if they do live on the Lower East Side.) 

 

I set my iPhone timer for 2:00, leaned against some scaffolding, and did some deep breathing.  It’s amazing how well that shit works when you actually concentrate: I walked in the party (which was a 5^th-floor walk-up) with sincere smiles, hugs, and air kisses.  It was actually a very cute one-bedroom duplex with a very cute spiral staircase.  And it turns out the resident wasn’t a total stranger to me

“Thank god you’re here,” Bottomless Pitt said, skipping the formalities (that’s why we like her).  “Urban Sprawl’s drunk-ranting upstairs, and Bitter Commie...”  Pitt pointed to the swaying pair of Diesel jeans and black button-down in the corner where the angry mumbling was coming from.

“Bitter Commie’s being Bitter Commie.”

“We need a drink.  NOW!”

“D. Kareeeeeeem!” I hear from the top of the stairs. 

“Urban Sprawl, how ar—“

“That was so funny how you ignored my angry text.  Everyone else was like, ‘What did we do!’ and ‘I’m sorry!’  You were like, ‘That’s real nice, hun.  That’s. Real. Nice.’”

“Basically.  But it’s good to see you’re feeling better.”

“And whooooo are yoooouuuuu?”  Out of nowhere, this tall, young, slim, incredibly drunk white guy appeared.  He was unbelievably cute, but a bit skinny for my taste.  So after the first 10 seconds of our make-out session, he’s like, “Whoa… yourrrrra good kissssserrrrrr.”

“Thanks.  I’ve been working on it.”

We continued to have a conversation not worth repeating in between 5-second spurts of kissing for about 30 seconds when he saw something shiny and ran away.  Then he attacked Bottomless Pitt.

Here's some footage from the night.

We had a great time until about 4:30 when the cops broke everything up.  Of course, some self-righteous, privileged white guy announced that he was going to stand his ground and fight for his rights.  I gave him a fight-the-power fist on my way to the spiral staircase and out the door.  Pubic Finance fell down the spiral staircase.  

Bottomless Pitt and I ended up with a fruit fly and her 3 cute friends at some Mexican joint that served catfish tacos (San Loco?).  I had 3 before I hopped on a bus uptown with Bottomless Pitt.  “I’ll get off at 14^th and just walk til an M14 bus comes.”

I got off at 14^th and walked til the A train came (for those of you not familiar with NYC, I basically walked across the entirety of Manhattan).  This is why I stay west of 5th Avenue.

Did I mention that Sunday had amazing weather too?

Check out the afternoon when I met America Ferrera.  Click here.

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