the back room was open (Ramrod open bar and Pieces underwear party)

Saturday definitely felt like Sunday when Grrber and I woke up. After sharing another roasted chicken, we caught the train downtown, Grrber going back across the river and I meeting up with TTT and Ms. W in SoHo. TTT had texted me that he needed to be back home by 7:30 before his friend’s open bar party, so I figured I’d be a nice afternoon outing followed by a disco nap.

Apparently, TTT only owns 3 pair of jeans (huh?!), so I met up with the boys at Armani Exchange (they had a DJ!) to help her shop.  While TTT was trying on jeans, Ms. W busied herself with her new boyfriend’s tongue.

. o O (I’m just gonna straighten up this shirt on this hanger. It’s hideous, but it’s in front of me.)

TTT found some rather perfect jeans. When she came out of the dressing room, she finally looked at the price tag.

“Oh my god! I’ve never paid this much for a piece of clothing before!”

“Bitch, I don’t believe that for a second! It’s a fun story, though.”

“I’m serious!”

“After you tried on jeans without glancing at the price?! That’s real nice, hun…”

I think the actual quote she was looking for might have been that she’d never paid that much for clothing herself. Hard knock life.

After TTT paid for the jeans (herself), Ms. W and her boyfriend ran off to a movie. TTT and I explored Uniqlo and TopShop (tee hee hee). Both stores are sort of like H&M (stylish yet cheap), but I was determined not to spend money on clothing that day. I did fall in love with a lime green blazer, but at $350 I had to settle for being just plain cheap.

TTT had been lugging around a magnum of suspiciously translucent red wine all day that a friend had dropped off with him earlier in the afternoon. She kept complaining about it, so I suggested that we find a BYO restaurant in the Village and relieve her of the burden.

 

When we cracked open the wine, pouring it into the tiny (non-wine) glasses that the restaurant provided, I realized why the wine looked so suspicious: it basically tasted like Kool-Aid. But TTT had decreed that we must finish the bottle, and who was I to go against a queen’s wishes!

About halfway through, a group of 4 gay 20-somethings sat at the table next to us (literally about 4 inches away). TTT tried to be demure about the fact that he was on Grindr at the moment (because dinner and wine with me is just that interesting for him). He tried to shush me when I mentioned it in front of the new guys, so in usual D. Kareem fashion, I stated with liberal volume, “Look at these dudes! They’re probably all on Grindr!” 

As TTT covered up his screen with a shocked look, two of the guys laughed and immediately flashed the trademark yellow frame surrounding rows of faceless pictures. A third guy was slightly slower to pull his up, and the last guy was the leper of the group: “I don’t have an iPhone.” I scooted my chair over slightly.

TTT and I shared sporadic conversation with our dinner neighbors until we had finished the wine. By then, it was about 8:40, and it just wouldn't be worth going home for a disco nap. TTT was headed to her place to change and shower, so I just rode with her. Just before 28^th St, TTT interrupted some incoherent story I was telling with a look of dread.

“Oh shit! My jeans!”

We hopped in a cab back downtown and found the AX bag at the hostess’s station. The Grindr Guys were gone, but when TTT did her usual every-15-mintues Grindr check, all of them had messaged her that she had left her bag. It was oddly sweet.

About 90 minutes later (after I coaxed TTT out of buyer’s remorse by telling her that her ass looked perfect in the jeans), we walked into a very crowded Ramrod. Yes, the tragic bar that was formally known as Dugout, which I had only entered once (thanks to SoHo Crush)! But if you’re gonna pay for open bar for over a hundred people, tragic bars are the way to go!

Things that happened at Ramrod (in outline form)

            I. The birthday boy (at 30-someeithing) did an impressive drag performance

                        A. “Is he Thai?!” “Filipino.” “Whatever!”

            II. The bar manager would have been hot had he not had a scowl on his face the whole night

            III. Pubic Finance handed out at least 3 rounds of tequila shots (she’s Mexican!)

            IV. Someone brought their 8-year-old kid, whom I referred to as the “drunk midget”

                        A.The best part was pointing out moments of child-like uncoordination (goddamnit, if uncoordinated can be a word…) as examples of drunkenness

                        B. When I saw the kid return to the bar twice in 2 minutes, I immediately started saying (in a kid's voice) things like, "You call this a drink?! Get me some motherfucking vodka in this! NOW!"

The open bar closed down early (I had no concept of time at that point, but someone told me it was at 2am, not the intended 3am). Not surprisingly, everyone in our group was like, “Fuck it! Let’s go to Pieces!”

Fruit Bat (who, I’ve recently found out, goes to Pieces more than I do) informed us that there was an underwear party that night for the owner’s birthday. Perfect.

I was going for the I-know-how-to-be-a-slut-but-I'm-not-one look by taking off just my shirt at first. Of course, after I bought my first drink, Med School Mess flashed the 2 free drink tickets she had received for checking her clothes. 

At the clothes check, I learned a piece of info that was even more important than the 2 free drink tickets: the back room was open.

Free from the burden of attire, I high tailed it to the back room, where was just enough light to make out a few pale outlines. With all my friends outside drinking, I couldn’t be bothered to wait for a show if there weren’t already some smacking sounds going, so I went back into the general population, capitalizing on a drink ticket.

RG friend: “Where’s the bathroom?”

Me: “Oh, let me show you! Right this way!”

I pushed the RG into the dark room, and she shrieked and ran back out, hitting me on the arm. I hardly noticed because I was laughing so hard.

Sidenote: Just a few weeks prior to this party, Med School Mess and his boyfriend had a discussion about (non-)monogamy, and it ended with Med School Mess getting 4 “wildcards” a year. So when I grabbed Med School Mess and pushed her into the back room, I yelled “WILDCARD!” as she stumbled in the dark to get her balance, returning after about 10 seconds (though not as flustered as the RG).

Blink was already in his underwear when we arrived. He came towards the back area to say hi to me. After a double kiss, I threw him into the back room with a, “This is more your scene!” I don’t think I saw her for the rest of the night (though I left soon thereafter).

Did I mention that I really don’t remember the trip home (but it's the A that takes me home, not the D!)? Yeah.

There are much more tragic places to end your night in your underwear. Marie's Crisis for example. Click here to check out that true story.

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