Sober Moment 4.30.09

It's not all partying and drankin' with D. Kareem.  The sober moment posts are just going to say what's on my mind.  More what I'm thinking; less what I'm doing.

I've found that the combination of long/late work days and living in NYC in such a high-tech time results in much of my interaction with people taking place online.  In fact, I get annoyed when people request something at work in person or over the phone (especially if it's very specific or a list of things... give me a damn email to reference!).  

The convenience of technology occasionally causes problems for/around me.  Just to give you an idea of what I go through on the social front, the following is a conversation I had on AIM (I'm in grey) a few days ago.  In. Its. Entirety.

??!

I'm still not going.  Because I don't know anything about the cruise.  Thanks.

Additionally, the following thread, involving 3 people I know, is one of the first things I saw on Facebook one morning.

Wow.  Person 1 left a status message, person 2 responded, person 3 responded to the status message, and person 2 went off on person 3.  Notice the timestamps.  Fueled by alcohol on a school night (they're all grown-ass men)?  Who knows.  

PS, what made this even funnier is that the guy getting bitched out defriended me recently on Facebook sans confrontation or explanation.  Not sure how we met him, but he started showing up everywhere.  And he annoyed the shit out of me (not saying anything bad about him; some people's personalities just aren't compatible).  I guess I threw him more shade than I realized.  Oops!  I just wish I knew what I did: I'm sure there will be another time when this technique comes in handy.

Speaking of drinking on a school night, check out my experience at Dr!p at Grace Hotel.  Click here.

We eventually settled on Unity Church

Pre-Easter Saturday night was the birthday celebration of an Australian and Ligaly Blonde, (i.e, a night with the Long Island Gays).  I was worried that MicHELLe may not attend because she had some not-so-ancient history with the Aussie, but luckily she got over it and showed up.

 

I arrived at Barrage and was slightly overwhelmed by the combination of all the Long Island Gays and some of the Ivy League Crew et al all being in one place.  Luckily, there was a bar between the entrance and the throngs of acquaintances.  Hugs and double kisses all around. 

 

Basically, it was a great drinking time.  The biggest revelation was that Bologna had a boyfriend!  And I don’t just throw that term around; Dill Pickle showed me a recent text from Bologna that said “me and the BF” as proof (because I definitely didn’t believe when I heard). 

 

The Aussie was too considerate!  He somehow knew I was wearing orange (and for once, a tie), so he made sure a friend provided a flower to match me! 

And now you see why I don’t wear ties.

Around 1:30, everyone was headed to the Ritz.  The combination of committing to 10:15am for Easter Sunday service and the fact that I hate the gay music they play on Saturday resulted in my leaving the flock, including MicHELLe, who gulped down the rest of her drink and tagged along to the Ritz.

I texted a warning: Know what you’re doing.

MicHELLe replied: Stop it!!

Me: As. You. Wish. (The Princess Bride was on Bravo earlier that week.)

Happy Easter! 

For the rest of the post, "Sunday" is to be pronounced in the old-south fashion: "SUN-dee".

MicHELLe and I had discussed going to a black church for Easter since he wasn’t going home and since I didn’t feel like going to Queens or Long Island with the fam that early.  We eventually settled on Unity Church on the Upper West Side since it was very gay populated performers and artistic types. 

The website said that Sunday service starts at 11.  I figured it’d be crowded, so I suggested a 10:15 call time. 

Me on the 1 train: Running about 5-10 late.

Me walking in the doors: Are you here already?  Apparently service started at 10.  It wasn’t until just after I sent that text that I realized that she was probably too hung over to show appreciation for what Christ had done for her suffering jetlag from exploring the bush around Sydney.  A shame, too, because they performed one of her favorite songs: “Joyful Joyful” from Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. 

After quite an enjoyable service that involved the domesticated bear pastor (gay, of course) saying, “And in the book of John, the story starts out with two Maries on their way to the tomb,”* (I didn’t get it til the queen behind me started laughing), I went home to change out of my suit and too small extremely stylish shoes and to start cooking some drumsticks for Ms. W’s Easter brunch.

Ms. W really isn’t the cooking type, so I didn’t quite know what to expect.  In fact, neither was TTT, and I didn’t know about the Hair (TTT’s high school friend). 

Upon arrival, MicHELLe was in the kitchen going to work on the (in)famous mac and cheese.  Why did this bitch put a block of cheese in my hand to start grating?  I can’t even eat mac and cheese: I’m. Lactose. Intolerant.  Then she handed me a second block.

“Bitch, did you not see me walk in here with 2 trays of chicken that I had cooked?  It’s damn near a half mile of walking from my place to the subway and from the subway to here!  Uh uh, my contribution is ready.  Ms W, can you make me another drink?” 

If memory serves me correctly, we had my chicken, MicHELLe’s mac and cheese (couldn’t eat), and mashed potatoes (also by MicHELLe, also couldn’t eat though they smelled lovely).  

I invited SoHo Crush, who ended up showing up about two hours late (probably because he was looking at places to move in Williamsburg because he’s selling his place in SoHo, but that’s a very painful subject which we won’t get into right now) before he insisted that we go to the Latin bar around the corner with the dollar jukebox.  All he had to say was “On me” to get the rest of the boys to sign on.

 

Of course, it was a straight bar.  And it was dead (on Easter afternoon? No!).  There were like 5 drunks at the bar who all stared as the 5 of us pranced in already well lubricated.  When SoHo Crush went to the jukebox, the one white guy was like, “Hey!  Man, I’ve been waiting a half hour to put some music on.”  But, he was nice enough to tell SoHo that he had left some credits on the machine if he wanted to put some songs on. 

10 minutes later, Beyoncé is blasting from the speakers.  Great.

After a drink and a few more equally gay songs, we took our leave for gayer pastures.  I suggested Küte, but we ended up deciding after we got off the train in Chelsea (sans SoHo Crush) that Greenhouse would be a much better (read: cheaper) option with their open bar. 

What exactly is appropriate for Greehouse on Easter?

I guess it was Passover(ish), too.  PS, The 10 Commandments is one of my fav movies ever.

This was an actual costumed person who roamed the party.

 She hit the flo'!  Probably because she was seen earlier at this table: 

Did I mention there’s always a burlesque show (Mrs. Robinson)?

 

Yeah.

*Back before most of us were born, gay men used to refer to each other as Mary, eg., “Look at that Mary over there!” or “Chill out, Mary; he’ll call you soon.”  

Click here to check out my first time at Greenhouse.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" (now on the right) and the Newly Updated Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

They like me; I pay never!

After the somewhat disappointing Friday the week before, I was definitely ready for something new.  TTT and Company had checked out a party called Rockit on 55^th between Broadway and 7^th.  Mighty far east for the gays, but why not.  Of course, what sealed the deal for me was the hour of open bar.

 

On Friday afternoon, Calipornia (who writes the hilarious Manchattan blog) had left a Facebook status asking if anybody wanted to do happy hour.  He’s a much braver man than I because you never know what type of awkward situation you may find yourself in if that super-awkward friend of a friend is the one person to respond.  Or copy down your mobile number from your Facebook page and text you because he knows that your not so into the Facebook thing (i.e., you may not respond to a Facebook message at the gym... because who does that... shit.). 

So I texted him, Hey, it’s D. Kareem the Blogger.  Got your # from Facebook.  Should be out of the gym around 5:45 if you wanna hit up a happy hour.  Pick a bar.  In HK but flexible on the west side. 

. o O (This is going to come off really cool or really sketchy.)

 

10 min: no response.

20 min: no response.  . o O (maybe he has AT&T.)

30 min: no response.  . o O (he’s probably out of the gym by now, and he hasn’t responded.  Shit, he totally thinks I’m sketchy for getting his number off Facebook!)

50 min: no response.  . o O (why is my life so awkward?)

1 hour and 1 min (my phone finally vibrates): Oh, D. Kareem Blogger – phew thought it was 1 of my other kareems.  Honey, I’m white.  Anyway let’s try Vlada.  Txt when u leave the gym.

 

. o O (You’re still awkward.)

. o O (Shut up, you!)

 

Calipornia and I met up around 6 and ended up having a great time talking about where we were from, our times in New York, how he and Justin (of Justin +1) have been trying out a bunch of new twink traps venues because Justin’s newly single and Calipornia’s even more also single.  Three drinks and 2.5 hours later, we were giggling over a pair of burgers and a shared order of fries (beach season!) about how Luckys had no apostrophe. 

 

Me: “You gonna check out this Rockit party?”

Porn: “I’m up for it.  Are you gonna have time to get all the way home and back?”

Me: “Well, I’m definitely not bringing my gym clothes to the bar.  Besides, it’s express til 10:15.  I’ll be fine.”

 

I hopped on the train, did a quick change at my house, and hustled back downtown, making it to the party around 10:10.  No line, and not too crowded.  Urban Sprawl greeted me (with two drinks) before I chassed over to the bar myself. 

 

“We’re only doing one drink per person.”  Excuse me?  

“Did you go to the guy bartender?” Urban Sprawl asked.  “He’s the one who gave me two drinks.”

“Oh, I definitely went to the guy.  He must have thought you were white in the bad lighting.”

 

The girl had no problem giving me two drinks. 

 

By 10:25 or so, it was a fight to get to the bar.  A 5'4" white friend of TTT’s that I had met a while ago had weaseled his way to the front beside me.  I was talking to him, and the bartender served him first, which was fine by me.  He ordered 4 drinks.  No problem.  I finally got myself 2 drinks from him.

 

To propose that this was an act of racism would be utterly preposterous.  More likely, he just had something against tall people (Urban Sprawl's like 5'7" in heels).  I actually feel a bit guilty, benefitting from tall privilege all these years.  Luckily Lina, the DJ, was playing 90s hip-hop (“a game of horseshoooooee!”), so it was pretty easy to get over the reverse discrimination.

 

After my reminder of where I stand in the gay Scene, I ran into TTT and some guy he was fucking a friend of his, and everyone went upstairs to where they were playing pop.  Luckily, I ran into Z the blogger!

 

We talked briefly before he asked me if I wanted a drink. o O (DUH!)  He was gone for a bit longer than one would expect it to take to procure a drink, and if he hadn’t left Brian the BF with us, I’d’ve thought he had flaked.  “I return with drink for you!  Funny bartenders!  They like me; I pay never!”  Okay, that’s not really how he talks, but he does have an accent (calm down, Bottomless Pitt; he's Turkish). 

 

Urban Sprawl and I ended up leaving just before 2 for The Hangar (of course) to catch their 2-4-1 special.  I didn’t feel like having yet another Saturday where I couldn’t move, so I opted for cranberry juice instead.  It’s surprisingly dark without the vodka!

 

Why did we see Bottomless Pitt at the bar already picking up some dude at 2:15?  She only goes to the Hangar for their 2-4-1, so she had just gotten there. We took a seat beside the happy couple at the bar and started on our drinks. 

 

5 minutes later, Pitt turns to me: “Well, my Egyptian guy likes you and your hair.  FML!”

 

10 minutes later: “I’m going with him to smoke.  We’ll be back.”

 

I texted: You don’t even like smokers.  Come in and have your second drink.  That earned me a “shut up, you did the same damn thing with Litre-hosen!” upon her return.  Touché. 

 

It was another 20 minutes or so before Bottomless Pitt left with King Tutt.  I texted: Cum back kid.  No response.  

Then Urban Sprawl missed her train home.

Did I mention that the next day Bottomless Pitt's Facebook status mentioned him having bloody knuckles?! Yeah.

For no good reason at all, check out our last Asbury Park trip.  Click here.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

with a large ceramic pig

I don’t have my laptop at work with me today, so I’m going to break form and blog on the fly about Sunday (the most recent one).

 

Cabbage Boy had invited me to a dinner party at his place, which worked well because we both live in WaHi.  We last saw Cabbage Boy at Black Pride ’08 with his Cunty Greek Chorus, but in an IM convo a few months ago, he said he had dropped them because of their cattiness.  Anyway, I told Cabbage Boy that I was bringing a friend.  What I didn’t tell him was that that friend was none other than Bottomless Pitt, whom Cabbage Boy had talked to online for some time last year without meeting in person. 

 

I invited Bottomless Pitt over for a drink before we went to Cabbage Boy's place, mostly because I had no idea what situation we were walking into.  Armed with screwdriver in our blood, we crossed the island of Manhattan (it’s pretty thin up there).  Cabbage Boy greeted us warmly, expressing great surprise to finally meet Bottomless Pitt, and suggested that we put our coats in his bedroom.  The way he said it almost sounded like “hey, wanna go look at pictures from the cruise I took… my computer’s in the bedroom, wink, wink.”  But he had about 15 things in the oven and a house full of people, so that wouldn't have made sense (right?).

There was a large ceramic pig in his bedroom.

We came out to mingle with the other guests, and the first person I saw was one of Duplex’s best friends.  Then I see the 6’4” TSWB in the kitchen making caipirinhas, and my heart skipped a beat.  . o O (I can’t believe Duplex came this far uptown! I’ve never seen him cross 30^th st!)  Turns out it was some German guy whom Duplex’s friend was dating (his back was turned to me).  I started breathing again (their builds are strikingly similar), and we all introduced ourselves to/greeted the room, including the aforementioned Chorus.  

Duplex’s friend, the friend's German boy situation, Bottomless Pitt, and I started talking.  As often happens, Bottomless Pitt was asked about her profession, and she started talking about her scientific research (did I mention she’s a PhD candidate) and her dissertation proposal.  And the German actually understood what Pitt was saying (which isn’t that complicated, the way she explains it, but people’s eyes usually gloss over at the mention of "research"), so Pitt got excited and started going into detail.  After about 20 minutes, the German asked me, “So what do you do?” 

“Not that!”

Right about then another friend of Duplex’s came in.  This is the friend that I see at every other nightlife venue I go to.  Seriously, if I don’t bump into him once or twice a month, I start to worry.  I guess NYC gets small when you’re into (well-spoken) black guys.  Did I mention all of Duplex’s exes friends look like (more muscular) variations of me (with less hair)?

Then Boris walked in.  I should have thought out my reaction a bit more because I’m sure half the room knew him, too.  I was super shocked to see him (but, like I said, NYC get smalls when…), but my reaction may have come off like “Crap! Two guys I’ve hooked up with are at the same party!”  For the record, I haven’t hooked up with Cabbage Boy or Boris, but I did meet both on Adam4Adam.  Where I also met Duplex.  God.

And as it happens, Boris wasn’t even really invited to the party.  He was picking up Cabbage Boy’s (black) roommate to go “work out”, but they ended up sticking around for a drink before hand.  Of course, as soon as the door closed behind them, it was a chorus of “Mm hmm!”

. o O (Who’s this guy in the pink shirt?  He’s beefy friendly with a handsome smile.)

Most of the time, Cabbage Boy stayed in the kitchen, bringing out one course at a time.  It was very causal (we stood around the living room most of the time).  Cabbage Boy had emailed me the week before to ask about what he shouldn't cook (he accommodated my lactose intolerance, which was so sweet!), but he apparently didn’t do that with all his guests.  Just about everything was seafood.  Specifically shell fish.  Pink Elephant (as we started to call him) has a shellfish allergy.  

I'll just assume they met on A4A after Cabbage Boy had already decided on the menu.

 

Pink Elephant: “Maybe I should just try a piece of it.  Columbia's hospital is right there.”

Me: “Dude, I left my EpiPen at home, and you look kinda heavy.  Don’t look at me to carry you there.”

Cunty Chorus Grl 1: “You should try it.  See what happens.” Not even a hint of a smile.

Cunty Chorus Girl 2: “I’ll have 911 ready.”

 

At one point, he tried a piece of a crab cake.

As the night went on, I became more and more intrigued with Pink Elephant, and I pushed a bitch out of the way luckily ended up sitting next to him when the main course came out (BBQ shrimp).  I think the subject of going out to bars came up.

“None of my friends text me anymore because I live in the Bronx.”

“Wow, that’s wrong.  What part of the Bronx?”  He mentioned a vaguely familiar neighborhood.  “Well, here.  Type in your number.  I’ll text you sometime.”

Classic D. Kareem move.

Right about then, Boris and his trick came back.  The most common comment: “How was the workout?!”  I talked to Cabbage Boy's roommate for a bit, and he claimed that he only ever gave Boris head.  In fact, he said that when when they first met, they ended up sitting on the couch at Boris's place with Boris’s partner in the bedroom (they have an arrangement).  Boris pulled his dick out and pulled dude’s head down.  I could see Boris doing that.

 

Pink Elephant's throat started to itch.

After dinner, Duplex’s Scene Queen friend came up to say goodbye.  “This guy in the kitchen, you know, the light-skinned one?  He was so cunty!”

Me: “Oh, Cunty Greek Chorus Girl 1? Yeah, that’s his thing.”

Scene Queen: “But really, though.  Just so negative!  I said something to him like, ‘Why are you so cunty,’ but that just made him worse.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s sort of how it goes.  But you know how these gays are.  Some of them are just really bitter like that.  You just can’t take them too seriously because they can be quite entertaining!”

 

Either I'm not well-informed of the schedule for dinner parties, or this one was quite drawn out (but fun nonetheless).  We were invited at 6:30.  Bottomless Pitt and I showed up around 7:30.  I believe food first came out of the kitchen around 8:30 or 9.  Meanwhile, Bottomless Pitt polished off the bottle of red we bought (minus the one glass I had).  By the time we finished eating, I'd had at least 2 caipirinhas (god knows how many she had), which were basically vodka, crushed lime, sugar, and ice cubes.  And I made myself at least 2 screwdrivers.  I feel like it was probably a bit after midnight by then. 

 

A Latin guy who had been enjoying la botella (and celebrating the holiday that was on Monday) had passed out on Cabbage Boy’s couch.  There may or may not be pictures that involve him in compromising positions with a large ceramic pig.

 

We finally left around 2:30 in the morning.  Did I mention that I finally had a chance to give Bottomless Pitt the clothes I wore from Halloween when I dressed up as he (and he has every intention of incorporating them in to his wordrobe)?  

Yeah.

Last time we saw Cabbage Boy was Black Pride '08.  Click here to check it out.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

just start shooting anything that moves

I was finally finished with my roommate’s recording project, so it was time to resume my weeknight partying.  I decided to skip the gym on Tuesday for a disco nap before checking out yet another Joey Israel party, Boybox (at G Lounge).  You’d think an hour of Absolute 100 open bar would be enough to entice the girls to join me, but the only one to show interest was Tighty Whitey (who doesn’t drink). 

 

The theme of the party is male burlesque, and the bar staff were appropriately (un)dressed. 

What interested me about this party was the unique brand of performance that was advertised (at one point, Joey Israel asked about furries in his Facebook status for this party).  There’s nothing I like better than a hot go-go, but I definitely got a taste of something new:

And Batman put on a little show just for me.

I swear I was zooming in on the logo on his shorts.  (Batman, if you're reading this, email me.  And bring the cape.) 

I ran into internet gaylebrity Cazwell (who recently appeared on RuPaul’s drag race)

 

as well as a couple of random friends of Duplex. 

After a while, Duplex himself rolled in with his 6’6” crew, and they started buying super-sized drinks.  That was about the time the open bar started taking effect for me. 

 

Out of nowhere, we’re at the door to Splash.  I protest, saying I'll just go home since there’s a cover for their weekly Blatino party (which I don't think I'd ever been to), and Duplex hands me two 5s to shut me up.  He buys me yet another drink, and I just start shooting anything that moves.

(always remember: the urinals at Splash are semi-see-through)

Hey, is that Mike da Wizard, the DJ from No Parking?!

(Is it bad that I didn't realize for a few days that his shirt wasn't a reference to weapons of mass destruction?)

This guy wasn't even a go-go.  I think I was taking a picture of something else, and he happened to be in the frame.  He insisted that I get less candid shots of him posing.  Should have saved my memory card for the dancers.

 

After I got all hot and bothered while watching these dancers, the story ended with me suggesting that I leave with Duplex.  Duplex told me his friend wanted to go eat and talk about relationship stuff, “but I could meet you back here around 3.”  Seriously?  Did I mention his multiple texts over the last several weeks saying that we really should fuck catch up (since I’ve seen him maybe twice his Halloween party… after which he also blew me off)?  I’m good, son.  Yeah.

Check out our antics at Duplex's Halloween party.  Click here.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Sober Moment 4.12.09

It's not all partying and drankin' with D. Kareem.  The sober moment posts are just going to say what's on my mind.  More what I'm thinking; less what I'm doing.   

I joined DaddyHunt.com 2 summers ago after seeing an ad at the Eagle.  I thought it would be all hot, older bear/otter guys.  There were a few, but… well, let’s just say I never actually met up with anyone from the site and stopped using it after a couple of months.  Every few months or so, I get an email from DaddyHunt, but I don’t recall anything called a virtual grope.

Click to enlarge the pic.

I just wish the picture had loaded in the email.  Yes, I have a yahoo account.  Sue me.

In actual grope-related news, Friday marks the half-way mark in the 10-week Beach-Body Workout Plan.  I’ll have to remember to take some up the weights b/c this shit isn’t working fast enough progress pics.

Totally unrelated, I had a very awkward moment that wasn’t so sober on Saturday night.  I was in an elevator with Bologna and about 5 other people on the way to a house party.  I think someone coughed or talked about throwing up (fuzzy memory but it was some action that would have spread a cold).  I laughed and said something like, “Oh great, now everyone has AIDS.”  Bologna stopped, glared at me, and said, “Dude, that’s totally not funny.”  I took it down a notch and admitted, “You’re right dude.  That was totally inappropriate to say.”  . o O (But did you have to call me out like that in front of people?)

I didn’t give it (or anything else) much thought that night, but today, I was thinking about the awkwardness of the situation.  I’m kind of glad that Bologna called me out the way he did.  I wouldn’t say to go around and correct people in front of crowds: it’s not a very wise way to keep friends*.  But it was definitely not cool for me to make a statement like that, drunk or not.  And someone in the elevator may have learned at my expense, something of which I’m often an advocate.  'I wasn't thinking' is an oft-used excuse, but really, I should have been thinking.

So props to that bitch for being so bold because one never knows who has just recently or ever [insert awful consequence] to [insert stigmatized condition].  I’m usually more sensitive than that, and it’s something to which I should have paid more attention.

*I'm glad Bologna had the balls to call me on that.  It was kind of embarrassing, but unless he made a major judgement that night, we'll continue as we were before.

Click here to check out a narrowly-missed awkward situation.  No, that would have been a disaster. 

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Purple is not on the Rubik’s cube

Med School Mess and her roommates were planning a Rubik’s Cube Party on a Saturday night at their place on the Almost East Side, telling their guests that they were to dress as a solid color and that there would be a "consequence" based on the color chosen.  On the same night, 5-foot 8x6 was having a blacklight party at Pieces (conveniently located diagonally across Manhattan from MSM’s).  Of course, we had to go to both.

I texted a few people that we should hit up Pieces for happy hour (since 5-foot 8x6 was working) and then go out to dinner before the Rubik’s party.  This was particularly convenient for me because I wanted to get some colored fishnets to complete my outfit, and the sex shops in the Village were likely to have them in stock.

Just like every Saturday afternoon, Mean Girls was playing silently with subtitles on the plasma screens and 5-foot 8x6’s iPod was blasting out the not-so-pop music.  Eventually, everyone showed up, including Bottomless Pitt.  He started to apologize profusely for what had happened the night before, but I let him know (again) that it wasn’t that serious for me.  I was most upset that he was too drunk to give me details.

A group of 5 of us went around the corner to grab a bite and saw that the restaurant had a BYOB sign. 

“Ugh, should we just go to a place that has a bar?”

“Um, no!  A) it’s cheaper to BYOB, and B) there’s a liquor store a block away.”

“Oh… right.  Lead the way!”

We got a magnum of white and went back the Thai restaurant.  As per usual, we were loud and obnoxious extremely boisterous (MicHELLe introduced me to the abbreviation, “as per uzhe”, which works much better aurally than in print).  After the waitress took our orders, she asked, “Do you want to try grilled cararari?”  She barely made it to the kitchen before our whole table lost it and turned into a teary-eyed, giggly mess.

After trying to decipher our check (she wrote English about as well as she spoke it), everyone else went to MicHELLe’s to polish off the other bottle of wine while Urban Sprawl and I went to find my fishnets.  What I thought would be a half-hour mission took about 3 minutes, so we hopped the train up for an early arrival to Med School Mess's.  

As usual, the decorations for the party were out of control.

The snacks.

The drinks.

The party favors. 

These guys really took nerd-dom to a whole new level: you can see the algorithm on the wall for how to solve a Rubik’s cube (and many were trying to put it into practice at the party).  I even heard someone whisper that they had researched facts on the origins of the Rubik’s cube and facts about it’s inventor prior to showing up.  Wow.

Of course, guest participation is always one of the most fun parts of these Med-School parties. 

And they made Twister-like drinking game.

(Psst!  Hey, Lollypop Guild!  Purple is not on the Rubik’s cube!)

Props to Morehead’s for the gayest ensemble at the gathering.

And what's a Med School Mess party without a performance of "Single Ladies"?

 And "Damaged".

God knows how much liquor we went through there, but we rallied everyone to get downtown for 5-foot 8x6’s party.  There exists a video of the latter part of this train ride.  I can’t post it here (let me tell you: if Facebook detagging were an olympic event...), but it involves a subway pole, a strap-on request, a broken umbrella, and Morehead’s mouth.

Part of the fun of the blacklight party was writing things on people’s skin, especially where they couldn't see.

Did I mention that the rest of these pictures have almost no story behind them, but they crack me the fuck up?

Yeah.

This wasn't nearly as messy as Med School Mess's last party: New Year's Eve.  Click here to check it out.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.