Don’t Drink and Drive!

TTT had invited us to join his his major corporation’s team for the AIDS Walk. Registration was at 8:30 on a Sunday. I told him from the start that there was no way in hell I was waking up that early, but he said he had put me on the list for the after party. . o O (An after party for the AIDS Walk when I didn’t actually walk?... Fuck it, why not!.)

MicHELLe had told me that the party started at 2. I figured the walk would be done by then, and people would just head directly over. Imagine my surprise (surprise… Yeah, we’ll go with that) when I called around 2:45 to get the info so I’d have my door game together, and she told me they were at Arriba Arriba. “We’ll meet you in about an hour.”

Awesome.

I walked into the Empire Hotel, and the guy at the door said “rooftop party?” . o O (Damn, was it that obvious?!) A group of 4 gays got on the elevator with me. All were cute.

Sidenote, I have to admit I’m kind of a math nerd (the phrase “nested FMLs” came up recently). Not that I took anything beyond calculus in college, but I had just bought a shirt that said “Never Drink and Derive” with a picture of a car crashing into x and y axes.  Why did one guy on the elevator read aloud, “Don’t Drink and Drive!” and laugh! At first, I spent a full second trying to find a tactful correction, but I decided to just nod and smile.

 

We stepped off the elevator into a beautiful venue that was almost absolutely empty, save for some very flamboyant pack of HK2FiPi gays (the kind of guys who would never bother to travel outside Hell’s Kitchen and the Fire Island Pines… the rich, famous, and fabulous [usually only 1 is true while the other 2 are faked] of NYC) in the corner. 

. o O (If this is the direction this party’s headed in, I’m so not into it.)

“Here’s your screwdriver, and that’ll be $11.”

$11?!  . o O (What the fuck kind of event did she invite me to?! Have we met?!) My heart s(t)ank as I opened a tab and had a seat on the terrace.

“Hi, we like your spot, so we’re gonna come sit with you. Hope you don’t mind!” The four gays from the elevator approached me in a V formation.

I started out talking to two of them, one white (TSWB alert!) and one of multiracial descent (part Panamanian, so we’ll call her the Panamaniac). The white one was all over the place, talking to this one, jumping up to greet that one. The Panamaniac and I found our connection over being catty about guys we were sickened to be attracted to (you know, the guys you want to fuck but could never endure a conversation with). He was witty and had me in tears! Turns out he also went to a non-Ivy-League college (thank god!). Nice ass too.

Real-time note: I literally just became Facebook friends with the Panamaniac this morning. Strangest timing.

Apparently, the Panamaniac had "met" the white guy only once before, and this was their second “date”, which he spent mostly with me. We exchanged numbers since “we have to hang out again!”, and he left to take the white guy (or to get dude's clothes from his place before he went to work).

 

This all took place over the course of about an hour and a half. MicHELLe had told me they were on their way. They weren’t. A little after 4:30, I left to meet them at Posh, and I was totally unprepared for the mess I was walking into

TTT’s friend didn’t say hi to me: he grabbed me and started swing dancing with me. TTT was throwing up in the bathroom. In the sink. 

The following happened outside the bar.

While that whole crew (including TTT [who bit my arm, WTF!] and MicHELLe) went to the party I had just come from, I went to the rally to gain the right to the marriages that they’ll probably have before I do (the phrase "Political activism? Ugh, I can't!" was uttered). Most of the Ivy League Crew et. al. was there, but we were pretty far towards the back, so we basically just socialized and drank from Urban Sprawl’s flask. We could have fought through the crowd to get to Tighty Whitey (who was toting the must-have accessory for the night: a marriage equality sign), but he ended up coming to where we were anyway.

We grabbed dinner at Vynl, and SoHo Crush and Crash came to meet us. The boys were heading to the Ritz around the corner, but I hopped in a cab with the SoHo Cs to another party thrown by our TriBeCa hostess. Apparently the boyfriend was out of town, and she was having a (very) intimate pregame for Greenhouse. In contrast to his costume extravaganza, this party had about 12 guests.

The SoHo Cs and I ventured up the ramp to the entrances of the bedrooms, and our hostess came out of one sniffing and wiping her nose. SoHo Crush made a witty quip before the hostess asked if we wanted to “join” her. We all took a step towards the bedroom before the hostess stopped: “Anyone who isn’t ‘joining me’ cannot come.” She slid the door closed with a smile.

 

After we I stood at the top of the ramp overlooking most of the loft and discussed how the space would work much better as an art gallery, at least 8 people came out of the bedroom. We all headed back to the kitchen for more drinks.

 

SoHo Crash (in the kitchen): “Did anyone else smell that?”

SoHo Crush: “Smell what?”

SoHo Crash: “I could have sworn I caught a whiff of coke in the air! Did someone just do some down here?”

SoHo Crush: “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but this party is starting to get painful. Let’s sneak out.”

Our hostess protested, but we made our way to the door after a round of double kisses. As we stepped out into the lukewarm night, I felt a major rush of energy. Like major. “Crash, I think you were right about that coke. I don’t know what it smells like, but I’m fucking wired right now!”

SoHo Crush tried to convince us that he could take the train to his new abode in Williamsburg, BK and rode with us to 14^th street (where I’m sure he saw “Next Brookyn-bound L: 15 minutes” and promptly hailed a cab). Within 3 seconds of his exit from the train, a guy plopped down in the seat next to me.

“Oh my god! Hey! That’s so weird.” It was the Panamaniac from the Empire Hotel party! The 3 of us made fun conversation on the way to 42^nd st, where SoHo Crash and I got off.

“It’s funny; his whole demeanor changed when he recognized you.”

“Really?”

“You know how people put on their face when nobody they know is around and they have their headphones on. They’re sort of putting on this persona of what they want people to see. All that disappeared when he saw you. We all do it, but it was funny to see it happen.”

I was heading to the Ritz to meet the boys. He was headed to meet Pretty Betty, who was having a drink with Ralph Macchio. We parted ways, but unfortunately, my boys had already headed home.

 

“Panamaniac from the AIDS Walk party” popped up on my phone: Let me know if I should leave u alone.

Me (confused): What do you mean?

Him: Just respond… lol

Me: Um, no. No need to leave me alone. Was I weird on the train or something?

Him: On the train?

Me: On the subway when we saw each other. Just wondering what prompted that text.

Him: Maybe u forgot where u and I met

Me: At the rooftop party, right?

Him: Naw.

Me: Oh. Crap. Where?

Him: At Suite last night… it’s all good tho.

 

Did I mention I had saved the wrong missed call under Panamaniac’s name?! FML!

Check out my album review How to Be a Lady, the new album from Electrik Red (they're a new girl group associated with songwriting powerhouse The Dream). Click here.

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