Live at the Westbury Manor

Tighty Whitey was all about dropping his keys in front of soldiers during Fleet Week. He even sent out an email for the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend suggesting that we all go on one of the free tours of the ships docked near midtown. “I say we show up wearing the tightest, sexiest, gayest things we own and make an exhibition of ourselves.” Of course, I was down.

As always happens on a Saturday, I ended up leaving my place later than intended. By the time I got over to the ships, the boys were already inside. The line was at least a few blocks long, and I was carrying alcohol (did I mention I was headed to Ligaly Blonde’s Memorial Gay party on Long Island for the afternoon). Rather than try to negotiate with security, I texted my regrets to the boys and headed to Urban Sprawl’s place early.

Apparently, I missed a really good time. Not only did Tighty Whitey bring a really cute friend to whom I hadn’t been introduced (best believe I clicked on his profile when I saw him on the guest list on Facebook!), but Med School Mess took advantage of a photo op that I like to call “The Unwilling Soldier”.

A couple of hours later, we were in 2 cars on the way out to Westbury (hello, Long Island Gays, of course). Much like Labor Day’s festivities last year, there was an afternoon BBQ/night of drinking at the house, a trip to Fire Island the next afternoon, and a trip to Jones Beach that Monday. I was really not a fan of the idea of sleeping over, but I packed a change of clothes just in case.

For some unknown reason, Frat Boy had to stop in his hometown to go to the ATM and liquor store. From the time we got off the Northern State Parkway to the time we got to downtown, he wouldn’t shut up about how trashy his town was.

That's a Lamborghini Testarossa. We also saw mansions with 3-car garages. Trés trash. I couldn’t do anything but laugh at the following conversation:

Med School Mess: “Frat Boy, do you have a pool in your back yard?”

Frat Boy: “Yeah, why?”

Med School Mess (trying not to crack up): “Just wondering.”

We finally made it to the Westbury Estate, and the party was raging by the time we got there. Enough liquor was on the table to kill a whale. And we ran out of mixers.

Asian guy: “Hey, were you on the 1 train uptown on Thursday night?”

Me: “Huh?... I guess… yeah?”

Asian guy: “Yeah, my friend and I met you on the way home.”

Me: “Oh my god. That was you!”

Asian guy: “Yeah, we were talking about that bar, Rawhide. You have to take us there! You remember my friend, right?”

This city is way to fucking small.

Two small dogs live at the Westbury Manor. Both cute, both relatively quiet and well behaved. But then Freak Ho walked in. With. Her. Dog. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the smaller of the two was chasing Freak Ho’s dog around the whole damn house. And both were barking constantly. Awesome.

Eventually, the party moved inside. And for some unknown reason (vodka), everyone’s shirts started coming off! Daredevil, who works in fashion, put her skills to good use by making a sexy halter top out of one of Bologna’s pink shirts. 

And pretty soon, everyone was “singing” along to their favorite hits (even if they did change a few of the words).

Morehead: “Did you see the action with Freak Ho and Dirty Sanchez?”

Me: “Wow. Not that far fetched, but wow. I’d be a bit curious about that DVD… Oh, god, Urban Sprawl can barely stand. Sprawl, honey, let’s get you some water.”

Urban Sprawl: “NO! More vodka!”

Me: “Okay, drink this vodka from the tap, then. Here you go. Good girl!”

Eventually, things began to wind down, and people started to break out the air mattresses. A few lucky tricks guys got actual beds with the hosts. Frat Boy and I were in the downstairs bathroom brushing our teeth, and Dirty Sanchez busted in whining that he had to pee right that second. As we were walking out, Ligaly Blonde said to Dirty Sanchez, “Make what you talked to Bologna about happen.” 

Frat Boy heard this little tidbit and couldn’t help himself. He ran into Ligaly Blonde’s room (where Bologna was cuddling with his boyfriend in the bed) and squealed, “Yes, yes! You should totally hook up with Dirty Sanchez.”

Bologna: “Huh? What the fuck are you talking about.”

Me: “That might not be such a good suggestion.”

Frat Boy: “Why not?”

Ligaly Blonde: “We were talking about Freak Ho and Dirty Sanchez.”

Me: “See that guy Bologna's cuddling with? That’s his boyfriend.” I grabbed Frat Boy and played exit music as I danced and pulled him out of the room.

Most of the Ivy League Crew et. al. were in the basement. I managed to end up on a double mattress with two other guys. Then Med School Mess’s drunk ass squeezed in. Let me tell you: a double mattress was not meant to accommodate 4 grown-ass men.

So, Morehead had brought a friend of his from college. He seemed kind of cold at first, but eventually became friendlier as the drinks flowed. And yes, I thought he was cute. When Med School Mess moved to one of the air mattresses in the middle of the night, I ended up next to Morehead's friend on the double mattress. I wasn’t sure if I dreamed it or if it actually happened when I was half conscious, but I remember trying to kiss him in his sleep and him being like, “Um, excuse me?” I’m really hoping that was a dream. Why anyone would try to kiss someone in their sleep is totally beyond me.

Did I mention I got zero sleep that night? Yeah

To check out Memorial Day last year, click here.

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