DR!P was open bar

I'd like to start out by acknowledging the new readers. Welcome! Special shout out to those of you in the middle east (Riyadh, Masquat). I had no idea my words were reaching that far. If you like the blog, tell a friend about it. And COMMENT! One of the best things about blogging for me is interacting with my audience, so if you like something, something isn't clear, etc., comment or shoot an email (click here if you're confused about how to leave a comment).

Remember Frat Boy? Well she quit her job like 2 months ago. She’s got a matter of days before she leaves to live a year in Argentina. Will she find a job? Who knows. Who cares. She just wants to go, and she is going. And people laugh when I say I want to be white (only for a non-summer month… I also want to be blue-black for a month).

Anyway, she ain’t workin’ so she’s been having these pre-parties at her place in the Financial District on Wednesday nights before DR!P, the last one happening the Wednesday before Pride. When I arrived, everyone was already enjoying drinks. At one point, I settled by MicHELLe, who was obsessing over a TSWB at his job (usually he likes the short version, but this one has a British accent!). Somehow, he worked in the fact that he may or may not be into (the idea of) a partner hitting him: “I need to stop with him because he could hate-crime me during sex.”

Time to go!

In honor of Pride, DR!P was open bar for the first hour, so I figured it’d be crazy. Luckily there was no line to get in when we arrived a bit after midnight. I’d totally forgotten about the gold theme.

But Bottomless Pitt hadn’t.

This used to be a tube top. This used to be a "top".

Lady K was in the house.

As was the 7-foot Chandilier.

Petey Pig.

And this guy.

I’m really not sure what was going on here, but I took a picture anyway.

I've heard of shitting glitter, but damn!

I also ran into one of the models from the photo shoot.

All that glisters is not gold.

And once again, Urban Sprawl shows that she’s the face of versatility.

(Not!)

Even better: she was less than a foot away from this sign.

Freak-Ho tests the theory that rubbing your dick on a guys back can get you a blowjob. 

The results from this study may be biased. 

You would think once we were over DR!P, we’d go home. Nope. Bottomless Pitt and I somehow got separated from the others (on the way to Posh) and wound up at Karaoke at the 9th Avenue Saloon. Did I mention the extensively flirty conversation I had with the cutie from my gym who also graduated from a non-Ivy-League school (thank god!)? Yeah.

Click here to check out a rather unusual night in Harlem.

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