meet my friend: sit up (Northern Decadence)

Every Labor Day, the Long Island Gays throw Northern Decadence, a suburban gathering (in Westbury) to drink out the end of summer. MicHELLe and I caught a ride out with Morehead, arriving in the late afternoon. I was dressed a bit outrageously for the occasion, sagging my red linen pants so that a few inches of my new underwear were quite visible.

A rather funny situation went down involving my attire. A friend's boyfriend, whom I hadn't really seen in months, picked at a piece of my shirt, asking, "Did you have this made?... Oh," and giving a condescending once-over look. "It's obviously a bit small. It's a women's cap tee. Did you take this from your little sister's closet or something?"

I acknowledged his statements with an eye roll and a fake laugh because anything else that would have come out would have started a conflict that I really didn't want to deal with on a sunny day on Long Island. Plus, me directing an ad hominem comment at her would be just plain unfair. Instead, I stopped paying attention to whatever it was she was saying and whipped out my phone, tweeting, "Dear Friend's boyfriend, don't make fun of my tight shirt. And meet my friend: sit up." Not the most mature thing I've ever done, but, as I said, any worthy response would have made me look like the bigger asshole.

As soon as I put my phone away, Ligaly Blonde came over with her phone out: "So, I just got your latest tweet. Who are you talking about?"

You wanna talk about stunned! It took me a good half a second regain enough composure to steer the convo towards tweeting in general. I successfully avoided the topic being verbalized, but I wouldn't be surprised if she used the new cut-and-paste function on the iPhone to forward the text/tweet to everyone relevant. Oh well.

This year, Northern Decadence was a refreshingly low key party. I feel like it was about half the number that usually Ligaly Blonde's parties. And the laid back atmosphere made it much easier not to get totally trashed.

MicHELLe and I began talking to a cute friend of a friend, and we mentioned that we were on our way back to Manhattan that night (rather than crashing on an inflatable mattress... if there were any). Turns out he was headed to the same neighborhood we were. In fact, the same block!

“I’m about to leave in about 10 if you guys want a ride.”

“Sure!” we both said in unison.

MicHELLe turned to me after the driver walked away: “Wait, do you think we should?”

Me: “Look, I’m about to go back to Hell’s Kitchen in a car. You do what you need to do.”

MicHELLe: “Good point.”

Looking back, I could see her point. I didn’t know this dude from Adam(4Adam), but I had a good 30 lbs on him, and we outnumbered him.

Our new buddy had to stop by his parents’ house to walk their dog, and when he got out of the car, MicHELLe and I realized that neither one of us could remember his name.

Me: “Tell me if you see him coming.”

So, flashback to Pride ’06. Okay, the morning after Pride ’06. I had gone home with Kunta Kente. After a night of wild sweaty sex and drunk stimulating pillow talk, I couldn’t remember his name to save my life. Rather than running the risk of an awkward situation, I searched for a piece of mail, an item that was sure to have his name, while he was in the shower. Thank you bedside table!

But what the hell would have this guy's name on it in a car? The registration, which (thank god) was the first thing I saw when I opened the glove box.

Me: “We’re good. Unless daddy bought the car for him.”

MicHELLe: “Maybe he’s a junior.”

Of course, the whole ride back, we didn’t use names once. MicHELLe pointed out that he could have very well forgotten our names, too. This turned out to be wrong when I ran to the deli closest to MicHELLe’s apartment and heard my name from halfway across 9^th ave. Turns out homeboy was meeting friends at Arriba Arriba, and they had gotten the cruisiest table in Manhattan the outdoor table that’s basically on the corner of 51^st and 9^th.

By the time MicHELLe and I had a drink in her apartment, it was about 10:30. The Ivy League Crew was at a frat-themed birthday party on the East Side. As far as I was concerned, the party already had two strikes against it, but it was supposed to end at midnight, at which there was a 50/50 chance that they’d all end up coming to Hell’s Kitchen anyway (or the E.vil). I tried texting to see where they were headed after, but no one would give me any info.

It seemed a bit far to go for an hour, so we just headed to Posh. Of course, the frat party turned out to be super fun, and the Crew stayed til about 2:30 before also heading to Posh. Did I mention that MicHELLe had gotten distracted by some boy, so I had already gotten home by then? Yeah. 

Click here to check out last year's Northern Decadence celebration.

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

my abhorrence of venues east of 5th ave (Bottomless Pitt's housewarming)

Bottomless Pitt and her straight roommates were having a housewarming party on a Friday, and I hadn’t been out all week due to fatigue (this may or may not have to do with the fact that I had already stayed at Grrber’s place twice that week). Both Grrber and I had gotten out of work early, so we met up at Pieces for happy hour. And dude would not stop buying me drinks! Just before we were leaving, Urban Sprawl showed up and had a drink with us.

From Pieces, Grrber and I went out to Brooklyn to get dinner and drop by his place before we went out. By the time we caught a quick disco nap, picked up a 6 pack (liquor stores were closeed) and a couple of single-serving mixers (when it comes to mixers: trust no one), and walked to 1^st ave from the train (fucking first avenue!! As in 3 avenues from the train!) it was about 11.

Grrber: “Is that….”

Me: “Urban Sprawl!”

She was doing her signature sway down the sidewalk (and street) when we saw her. “They have tons of liquor but no mixer. I’m going to get some.”

“Here,” I offered a few ones.

“No, no, no. I got it.”

“Well, look atchu, Sugar Daddy! See you up there.”

“MicHELLe and Med School Mess are there,” Urban Sprawl said, stumbling off into the night. What Grrber and I didn’t realize was that we had just caught her in the middle of a ninja move and that that would be the last we would see of her that night. Guess she'd been drinking since we saw her at happy hour.

 

It was a complete madhouse when we got upstairs. Med School Mess almost blended in with the group of random African guys she was talking to. Bottomless Pitt balked at me like I had brought him a fresh eastern European twink (I could sort of understand his disbelief at my presence, considering my abhorrence of venues east of 5^th ave). And MicHELLe was just plain loud and flirty.

Friends of Bottomless Pitt immediately pushed cups of vodka and Crystal Light into our hands shortly before his roommate demanded that we take shots of Demon Rum (a surprisingly tolerable mix of 5 different types of liquor).

This is when my stupidity in this situation actually hit me. Here I am with this older guy that I really like. I’ve known him for a few weeks, and he’s already met too many of my friends too early. And that night, I had basically dragged him to a college party. Then again, he went to a big party state school, so it was probably nostalgic.

Then they ran out of vodka. Why did Med School Mess pull out a Gatorade bottle of vodka from her bag! Luckily, I still had my own mixer, so I made him, Grrber, and myself a drink.

It was around this time that 3PRG*, an RG friend that went to Bottomless Pitt’s Ivy League School for undergrad, went to make more Crystal Light punch. Minus the vodka. She then proceeded to pour people drinks that were "sooooo strong," spilling most of the “punch” on the floor. It was no surprise to see this later in the night:

That's cheese on Bottomless Pitt's bedroom wall. I think it's supposed to spell something.

 

Did I mention that Grrber had a friend and a niece coming into town and that that was my last impression for the next week and a half?! Yeah.

Click here to check out this mess of a house party at CoLaw's.

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

*did you catch the Star Wars reference? Damn, I'm sorry. 

Sober Moment 9.23.09: Fun with Adam4Adam

In an effort to expand readership for the blog, I have whored myself out to very familiar websites (that have helped countless gay men expand other things in their lives): Adam4Adam, Manhunt, and BigMuscle. Keep in mind that these threads read from bottom to top. Click the screenshots to enlarge.

Most of the time, I try to be subtle about the online marketing at the beginning of a conversation, but after a few drinks, the “t” becomes less than silent. In my profile, I suggest that guys google me. You know, in case they actually read my profile.

What can I say; I know what I like.

 

This guy started out clever, but he quickly took an intelligence nosedive.

For those of you not familiar, when you don’t have a picture, A4A gives you a generic silhouette that says “no photo”. Doesn’t he know the #1 rule of online dating: No pic? No dick!

This guy gave me the most unique opener/compliment I’ve gotten in my ~7 years of online gay activity.

Thanks, dude. I’ve been working on it for the summer.

 

On the other hand, there’s one problem I keep running into over and over again. I don’t want the webmasters to peg me as a spammer, so I never send links in emails. I’d say about a fifth to a quarter of guys I talk to don’t quite get that.

I guess “the blackout blog dot com” doesn’t translate to www.TheBlackoutBlog.com as easily as I would think. PS, his screenname starts with “top”. Riiiiiight.

The worst is making a situation awkward when you’re not even physically present.

Thanks for sharing on the first day of messaging. Yeah, there was no saving that one.

And finally, here are two examples of how to avoid meeting D. Kareem for sex.

If any “blk” dick will do, you won’t. And yes, mine has arms and legs.

Click here to check out my last Fun with Adam4Adam post.

sufficient obnoxiousness on the boat (Cheer NY Sea Tea and what REALLY happened in the back room)

Did somebody say Cheer New York Sea Tea?! I’m so there!

But before the booze cruise, I met up with Bottomless Pitt (who was wearing a tank top and obnoxiously short shorts… did I mention I was wearing my bright pink “I LOVE MEN tshirt?) to head out to some park in Astoria for Donkey Hóte’s going away gathering. 

I wish I would have looked up where the hell this park was before I left the house because it was nowhere near the closest subway stop (which happened to be the last stop on the N/W train). But they had a public pool about the size of a football field. All I could think was . o O (How many people have peed in that water!)

Bottomless Pitt: “It’s already almost 5. Are we really going out there for 5 minutes and coming back into The City?!”

Me: “She’s gonna be gone for a year, and who knows if she’ll come back! Think of it as karma points.”

Pitt: “Well, make sure you talk to Blink if she’s there. Apparently something epic happened in that back room . I’ll let her be the one to tell you.”

I saw Blink from a hundred feed away, and after greeting everyone briefly, I pulled him a few feet away with an arm around his shoulder.

 

“I heard you had a story from the back room last night. Care to share?”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve already told the rest of them…” 

. o O (So I’m the last to know the gossip?! Oh hell no!)

The night before, I had made a hobby of pushing people into the back room at the underwear party at Pieces, and most of them came out screaming about how they’d been blinded or tainted for life (taint! ha!). But the last time I had seen Blink was when I pushed him into the back room. And I stayed at Pieces for a good half hour after that. 

According to Blink, he stumbled into the dark room, realized what was going on, and decided to post up on a wall. And who comes wandering through  but KennyKennyKenny. KennyKennyKenny is the class-of-'07 Republican who denounces the ills of gay scene (that he frequents) and claims to prefer a husband to a hookup. So it only makes sense that he would be in the back room. And it's not that he hates people of color; they're just not relevant to his life (I literally didn't speak to him for 6 months because I wanted to see if he'd greet me first when we were in the same room). But that’s not where the story ends.

Legend has it that KennyKennyKenny looked around at the selection for a bit. Suddenly, he stopped in front of Blink and dove! This was where I imploded. And of course, everyone else knew the story , so they were dying, watching my reaction, which involved a dropped jaw, a few syllables of gibberish, and a run in a small circle. 

“I didn’t even really see his face, but I’d recognize that hair anywhere!”

“So he really went down on you? Doesn’t he know you’re black!”

“I know, right! And then I was like, ‘Oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,’ and he got up and left!”

“That was your dumb mistake! You should have given no sign of climax and cum right in his mouth! If you have to react, just tap your foot or scratch your head. In fact, that makes a better story. Lie next time you tell it.”

We stayed at the park for a little longer than a half hour (which means we'd already missed Cheer NY's performance on the Pier). As we were getting ready to leave, Med School Mess, Bottomless Pitt, and I started telling everyone goodbye individually. As soon as we started to walk away, Urban Sprawl decided she wanted to come with us. So now she had to tell everyone goodbye. Individually.

Urban Sprawl: “Hey, guys, wait for me. I wanna run to the bathroom.”

Bottomless Pitt: “We’re already a half hour later than… fine, go. RUN!” 

Med School Mess, who was already drunk from brunch with a nun (I'm still trying to figure that one out) and alcohol from the park gathering, had declared that she wasn’t drinking anymore. She had to pee, too, but she ran in a different direction than Urban Sprawl. Ten seconds later, I turned around to find that she had not gone to a different restroom; she had not even gone to the bushes. She was peeing in plain sight on a tree. I even saw the stream of urine before I turned away and almost fell on the ground laughing.

On the train into Manhattan, I pulled out my Gatorade bottle, passing it to Urban Sprawl and Bottomless Pitt. 

Med School Mess: “Well, damn! Can I get some?”

Me: “What happened to, ‘I’m not drinking anymore!’?”

MSM: “I said I'm not drinking on the cruise! We’re not on a boat yet!”

We arrived about 15 minutes before the cruise set sail. Med School Mess was at the bar paying for a drink, so I had to give him a look.

“The boat has not left the dock!”

Within an hour of the boat leaving, I had downed an additional drink, and my bright pink shirt was tucked into a belt loop. 

. o O (That guy looks strangely familiar. Damn he’s hot! But where the fuck do I know him from? Do I recognize him from flirty glances at a party… Shit, that’s The Aussie! Stupid [hot] drunken sex!)

He was with another guy. But he wasn’t a major hottie, so it was okay. 

TTT: "Hey, Kareem! I'm gonna take a picture of you."

Me: "Okay, let me put my stuff down."

TTT: "It's like the cover of National Geographic!"

Me: "What'd you say, motherfucker!"

Let me tell you: TTT was lucky as hell that picture came out cute.

After sufficient obnoxiousness on the boat (which, unfortunately, involved less making out than last year even though Morehead was present), I convinced TTT to drag his friend to Chi Chi’s with Bottomless Pitt and me. Did I mention that they only had one drink each, so we made out like bandits with 2-4-1 tickets once they left? Yeah! 

Click here to check out last year's Sea Tea with Cheer NY.

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

VH1 Divas 9.17.09

So, did you catch VH1 Divas last night? I sure did! And I could actually understand what Paula Abdul was saying!

I'm not going to do a whole post on it, but check out my commentary on Twitter . Look  for all the recent tweets that have #divas in them, and keep in mind that it's in reverse chronological order (i.e., newest to oldest). And follow me while you're there (or just bookmark my page if you don't want to join Twitter).

And click here  to check out that time I entered at Hot Body Contest at Pieces... which was the same night I explained fisting to an RG.

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.

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

HK2FiPi gay above 96th St (Friday night pregame + No Parking)

The Straight Roommate was in the Dominican Republic (the actual DR, not our neighborhood), so I had the apartment to myself for the weekend. I’d just downloaded some new pop music, so I figured a pregame would be a good excuse to make a new playlist. I emailed a few people and told them I was buying a handle and some orange juice.

This pregame presented a major dilemma: I’d met Grrber about 2 weeks prior, and he had been to No Parking both weekends. Two weeks seemed a bit early for him to be meeting all the boys, but how awkward would it be for him to see that I had a party to which he wasn’t invited? Definitely not a situation I would want to put myself in with a guy that I really like.

Speaking of awkward, did I mention that I had randomly run into Tink (TTT’s ex from a ~2 year relationship) at a small gathering at MOH’s place early in the week and kinda sorta invited him to come because he’d never been to No Parking? Did I mention he eagerly accepted? Yeah.

I was pretty fucking exhausted from the week, so I took a 90 minute nap as soon as I got home, which left me with about a half hour to shower, get ice, and make sure the apartment was presentable (I had said 9:30 for my birthday, and MicHELLe was sickeningly punctual). I was literally running out of the shower and turning on the music in the living room (naked) when my doorbell rang.

. o O (Shit, is that a neighbor? Is the music too loud?! This can’t be good!)

I threw on a pair of undies and the closest jeans I could grab to answer the door. Thankfully, it was just Morehead. At 9:35. Around 10, Grrber showed up, and the bulk of people had arrived by 11 (Bottomless Pitt with a 40 of Old English).

Tink ended up not showing (not that he wouldn't have been fun to party with, but that whole situation...), and we even got an HK2FiPi gay above 96^th St! Yes, Calipornia couldn’t wait to check out the uptown man meat, dragging Justin +1 along. I was a bit confused when an unfamiliar young redhead walked down my hallway. He talked to Justin +1 first, so I assumed he was a friend from the blogging/nightlife world (go go boy?). I laughed out loud when Calipornia walked from across the kitchen to give a very warm greeting (did Calipornia mention she’s really into younger redheads?). When pointed out my amusement to him, he informed me that the guy was actually Justin +1’s boyfriend. Oops.

The great thing about making a playlist for a pregame is that the music can build continuously throughout the party (whereas if your playlist is for the main event, you have to have more ebb and flow). I purposely put the most familiar and danceable songs at the end of the playlist when everyone was well liquored. So when Chelley’s “I Took the Night” came on, Med School Mess went absolutely bananas and tried to vogue. 

“Oh my god! I’m gonna do a fall!” she squealed. 

The “fall” started out like any other, leaning back with one leg extended and one hand on to the forehead. But about 6 inches into it, she paused, bent to the side, and lowered her hand to the floor to make it all the way down. She hit her pose with a dramatic sigh and then took about 30 seconds to get back off the floor with no shortage of grunts and “ow”s (sincere, not verbally decorative).

Oh, and boo to whoever brought the tequila (I actually loved it, but you don’t want to encourage that type of thing on a regular basis)!

By the time we made it to No Parking, all my attention was focused on Grrber, who, thankfully, had made a great impression on the boys. I don’t even think he and I stayed past 2. A quick stop at El Mambi for a plate of rice and beans, and we were back at my place. Did I mention that I didn’t get to sleep til almost 5? Yeah.

Did you see my fetish party post from Friday? 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.

Sober Moment 9.11.09: My September 11th

Today, I read an article in the Washington Post that stated that teens were too young to remember September 11^th. At first, I was baffled, but once I did the math (high school seniors are 17-18, minus 8 years), it made a lot more sense.

This really struck a chord with me because I have a niece who is 15 and a nephew who is 11.  They were 7 and 3 when the attacks happened. I may have been 7 when the Persian Gulf War happened, and I certainly didn’t understand much of what was going on when adults threw around all those foreign names.

September 11^th, 2001 was a Tuesday morning during my freshman year at a small liberal arts college, and I didn’t have class until either 10 or 11:30. On my way to the bathroom down the hall, noticed that everyone was in one of my neighbor’s rooms watching TV. I walked in (most likely in a towel…) and saw a close-up of smoke billowing out of the ground.

Me: “Is that a tornado?”

Neighbor: “No, a plane crashed into the pentagon. And the World Trade Center.”

Me: “Wow, that’s weird! Did air traffic control just shit the bed or something?”

I really didn’t get it. I mean, who would crash planes into buildings on purpose? It had to be an unfortunate coincidence. And those people claiming terrorism: probably just southern, gun toting, militia-card-carrying Republicans looking to pick a fight.

I was about 5 minutes late to my comp sci class (as usual), and our professor was trying to log onto CNN.com on the computer that was hooked up to the projector for the classroom. We couldn’t get through because of all the traffic on the site. We didn’t do any work that day in class; we just talked (there were like 12 of us).

Later that day, the school organized an assembly of all students, faculty, and staff in the gym (my school was that small). Our president and a couple of deans addressed us, and they invited students to speak as well. A Dominican New Yorker, whom I had befriended during our school’s minority recruitment weekends during our senior year of high school (we had obviously convinced her to turn down her scholarship at Columbia U), was one of the first to approach the stage. I remember her speech, which she had just scribbled down off the top of her head, to be the most moving of the day. Everyone she knew was in New York, and mobile phones were less than reliable for communication (of course, I didn’t know because I didn’t have one at that point).

Everyone seemed on edge for the next few days. Although our campus was hundreds of miles away from New York, it was less than a mile away from a large naval base. Furthermore, my hometown housed Ft. Jackson, the largest basic training base in the US. Would there be another attack? Would I be able to fly home for my first Thanksgiving (I took a bus/train to my grandparents’ in NYC)? Did we know anyone in the Twin Towers?

Luckily, I didn’t know anyone who died in the attack even though my family is mostly from the greater New York area. One older cousin was late to work at a law firm near Wall Street, and he saw a tower fall from his cab.

Personal testimonies are what make history make sense for young people. It’s totally different to read about Pearl Harbor from a textbook than it is to talk to your uncle who was there or who lost a war buddy in the attack. So if you have an opportunity, I encourage you to share your story with a young person. 9/11 will never be forgotten, but each of us can insure that it is powerfully and personally remembered.

Click here to read the Washington Post article referenced above.

pointing to the suit on a leash (Totally Tyler and I do a straight fetish party)

My slow day at work took a 180 when I had the following exchange with Totally Tyler. Click to enlarge.

He later included me the following in a message: 

"And then, this morning, a colleague informs me that after some research, he discovered Yin has a blog. The invite for the party on the blog is more detailed than the invite I received, stating that "Perverse play is welcome" and "Private party...anything goes". Upon further exploration, I discover Yin is a mistress FULL TIME. She makes a living as a dominatrix. (Some girls have all the luck). She has a studio in TriBeCa and [partner] is her slave. She has the blog but is also a writer for several fetish magazines, etc. In short, in this lifestyle, she is a celebrity. Fabulous! :-)"

After pregaming at my place (which involved watching the last hour of Bring It On: All or Nothing on mute), Totally Tyler and I headed down to Chelsea. When we arrived at the door to Hiro, the drag queen with the List was hardly the most noticeable item on the scene. That distinction went to the shirtless 6’6” TSWB (with muscles) wearing low rise leather jeans (very low) and being lead by a short chick in a bright red leather dress.

Tension built as we walked down the long hallway to the ballroom. Would there be everything she said in the email? Would there be gays? Sex? Muscle bears?!!

 

We parted the double doors, and it was the smallest crowd I’d ever seen Hiro. We were pretty disappointed at first, but we headed to the bar before taking a look around.

Totally Tyler: “What’s that guy doing on that column?”

Me: “I’m not sure, but nice jock. Oh, shit!"I said, pulling Totally Tyler out of the way, "This guy’s got a bull whip!”

A graying otter to Totally Tyler's left let the end of the curled whip in his hand fall to the floor. He looked around him to see that his path was clear before giving the guy on the pole a couple of light brushes with the whip.

Me: “Until I saw an S&M exhibition at LA Pride a few years ago, I always thought whipping was all hard lashes. But they warm the sub up first with some light brushes and random lashes.” As if he didn’t know.

Totally Tyler: “Well, this isn’t exactly Roots.”

Me, pointing to the suit on a leash: “You sure about that?”

Not far from us on the dance floor, a white guy and a Latin guy were grinding on a black woman with long, curly hair. They were the only people dancing to the metal/techno soundtrack.

The next scene we saw was… well, it was rather elaborate. The dom (the ‘master’ if you will) was a masked, torpedo-breasted woman in a black latex outfit (zipper-crotched, of course). The sub, however, was the focus of this humiliation display. The sub had a leather mask on with (open) zippers over the eyes and long strips of leather that hung from the subs head like two pigtails. The sub had enormous balloon-like boobs and a long, draping leather dress that seemed to spread to a good 5 feet in width at the bottom. It appeared the sub was sitting on some kind of raised seat. 

 

Right around the time I focused my attention on this display, the dom pulled out a small back massager (yeah, right) and opened a zipper at the crotch of the dress. The sub, who was obviously restrained from behind, writhed as the dom rubbed the massager over the unzipped area, which was covered in pale tan leather.

“I think the sub is a guy.”

After a few minutes of this, the dom lifted up the bottom of the dress to reveal a the metal apparatus that was restraining the sub’s legs in a sort of 2nd position plie. The dom took the dress off the sub, and took her time removing the restraints from the sub’s arms, torso and legs. The sub’s new outfit was a tan leather body suit. The boobs looked even more ridiculous, embellished with large red areolae. The sensible black platform stilettos really tied the outfit together.

Remember the threesome on the dance floor? The woman was crouched over the white guy, who was writing on the floor. A closer look revealed that she and the Latin guy playing with the white guy’s nipples. And he was really into it.

At midnight, we saw a large flame near the stage. “Fire begins the pagan ceremony,” Totally Tyler mumbled out of the side of his mouth. A woman with a microphone gave a dramatic invocation (for lack of a better description, it almost sounded like what you would think of a devil-worship invocation, except with non-devil-related language) before the couple walked to the middle of the stage to face each other.

“Oh my god, I really can’t deal with this!” exclaimed Totally Tyler. “He’s such a straight-laced suit, not to mention a hard-ass negotiator! And now he’s in this outfit that looks like something out of The Cell. And a pound of eye liner on!”

The Cell was an appropriate comparison because the couple was decked out in a pair of body suits with a bunch of metal loops attached to them (though they didn't use them to hang form the ceiling to get off). The officiator then invited the audience come on stage and use red ribbons to literally tie the couple together to symbolize their bond in love and commitment to each other. By the end of it, they had a good 50 ribbons tying the loops of their suits together.

“How are they gonna get off the stage?” Totally Tyler wondered aloud.

“The best three-legged race you've ever seen!” I blurted out. Unfortunately, Totally Tyler’s question went unanswered as they employed the use of a curtain to end of the ceremony.

We felt like the party had hit is peak by that point, so we ditched for Barracuda.

“Did you read Yin’s blog post I sent you? There were times when I’d be meeting with them, and the man would just be like…” Totally Tyler made an open-mouthed, zoned-out face. “She must have had him hooked up to those electrodes under his shirt. She was totally zapping him in front of me!”

Totally Tyler wasn’t so much feeling Barracuda, so we caught the train uptown. Did I mention it’s nice to not have to ride home alone (sometimes)? Yeah. 

Can't get enough fetish? Click here to check out my post on The Black Party '08. And click here to check out what I wore to The Black Party '09.

Sober Moment 9.10.09: Fun with the iPhone

People send me the funniest text messages, and I can't help but be an asshole, even to my good friends. Keep in mind that the green dialogue bubbles are my text. 

The first is from MicHELLe. I think she was on her way to meet me from a bad first date.

I'm glad to comfort my friends through their boy trouble, but I'm only willing to go so far.

 

The next text comes from Hippy Cuz, who was back home in VA after spendin the summer in NYC. 

We'll ignore that my last pair of cowboy boots came from The Boot Barn since they were such hot boots. 

Next was a text to Med School Mess, whose TSWB boyfriend was in town. A group of us was enjoying drinks at Pieces, and they had been absent for about 5 minutes.

I didn't actually drink the drinks. Also, iTunes doesn't increase a song's play count unless the track is played completely through. 

The next exchange is also with Med School Mess. But first, I should explain our rating system. When talking about a guy's butt, we call out a street number or a neighborhood on the west side of Manhattan. The farther uptown the call, the nicer the ass. Houston St. is flat. South of there is just sad. Notice the time stamps on these.

MicHELLe often finds herself torn between her undergrad friends and her adult  real-life  other friends. The undergrad friends were heading to Fire Island for a BBQ. 

After getting off at Bay Shore (4 stops early... because she looked up "Fire Island Ferry" on her phone... BTW, Fire Island includes about 100 miles of barrier islands), she ended up in a straight community on Fire Island. 

"I just said fuck it and took a car back. But then [major event] was going on, and the subway wasn't running. So I had to walk from 2nd ave to 9th!"

"Wait, didn't you take a car..."

"Okay, by 'took a car,' I meant 'Split a van with 8 other people since it was only $22.'" 

"Oh."

Thank god for unlimited texting.

Did you catch the photos I posted on my Facebook profile? The magic happens in the captions. Click here to check out hilarious pictures that didn't fit into the blog. And while you're there, add me as a friend!

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

“I’m SO not a bear!” (F Word, Hudson Terrace, and whorish behaviour [even for The Blackout Blog])

TTT convinced a few of the boys to meet for brunch in his neighborhood the next morning. I heard the texts coming to my phone… but I really didn’t get out of bed until 3.

When I found them at Pieces about 2 hours later, Med School Mess couldn’t wait to tell me the story from earlier in the day. Apparently, she had told TTT’s friend (whom I’d met quite a few times) about the blog, explaining that everyone involved had a pseudonym. So TTT’s friend’s wheels got to turning in his head.

TTT’s Friend: “I wonder what my name would be on the blog… My goal tonight is to do something so outrageous so that I’ll make the blog!”

Med School Mess: “Your name would probably be something like WOOF.”

TTT’s friend (I’m imagining she was glaring): “What do you mean, WOOF?”

Med School Mess: “Well, because you’re kind of like a bear.” At this point I almost spit out my screwdriver with a splash of pineapple (finally, 5-foot 8x6 remembered my drink!!)

TTT’s friend: “I’m SO not a bear!”

I had to interrupt the story: “Mess, honey, you can’t call a guy a bear unless he identifies himself as one first… because they think all bears are fat, old, and scary.”

Med School Mess: “Well, I didn’t know! I mean, she is hairy!”

Well, TTT’s friend didn’t do anything outrageous, but for being the subject of a fabulous story, I’m happy to dub her Ursa Menorah. Ursa, your best bet for a recurring role is to a) show up, b) take off clothes, c) engage in whorish behaviour, d) pay me (PayPal accepted here). 

I had convinced most of the Ivy League Crew et al to do the F Word at Santos Party House that night and to email Joey Israel get on the comp list. Everyone was down, but Bottomless Pitt insisted that I keep her entertained on the West Side until the party started because she wouldn’t come back if she went back home to the east side.

Eventually, our group split up, and Med School Mess, Bottomless Pitt, and I ended up grabbing sushi. And whom did I see walking down Greenwich Ave besides Blink. Blink recently graduated from [Ivy League school] and moved to the city with a long distance relationship in tow. Did I mention she’s really not the long-distance-relationship type? We’ll call her Blink because she is everything that a twink should be… except she’s black.

I banged on the window and motioned Blink in. She spoke briefly, ordered food, and ran to Pieces to use the bathroom (um, Go Sushi has a bathroom, dude… well, they had a bathroom, but they’re closed now). It just so happened that the main bathroom at Pieces was closed down, so everyone had to use the one-man-party toilet.

Blink came back with a story!

“I went back to go pee, and just as I was closing the door, this older guy slipped in and was like, ‘I want you to piss on me.’"

Excuse me?!

Blink: "I was like, ‘What?!’ So he gets down on his knees, and I’m pissing into his mouth—“

Me: “Hol’ up, what?!" 

Blink: “Oh, whatever! It’s not like he was pissing on me. I was gonna pee anyway, so if a guy gets off on it, whatever.”

Me with a nod: “Point taken. But who was it?! We probably saw him earlier.” Blink described what the piss queen was wearing. “Oh my god! That was the older guy that was talking to us before we left! He was really into that Elephant video I showed him! You pissed on him?!”

Blink: “YES! So as I’m pissing, he’s like swallowing it. And of course, I’ve been drinking, so it was like a lot of piss. So at one point, he kind of started gurgling, so I took that as my cue to stop.”

Me: “How do you stop peeing once you start?”

Blink: “I managed. So he swallows the rest, and then he was trying to kiss me. I was like, uh, I gotta go. Rushed right out the front door.”

Me: “You should have ‘accidentally’ missed and gotten a little bit on his shirt.”

We went back to Pieces and hung out with the piss queen until a bit after 10. At one point, we saw him and a Latin guy in a do-rag scurry off to the bathroom together (talk about insatiable). When the Latin guy started bawling while talking to Bottomless Pitt soon thereafter, we decided it was a good time top hop on the train to TriBeCa for the F Word.

It was another night of spending like 20 minutes in line (20 minutes of open bar time, mind you… because I wasn’t drunk from the last 6 hours)! But when they finally let us in, the party turned out to be awesome! Cazwell has officially earned look-for-him-on-invites status as a DJ. Did I mention he played “He Ain’t With Me Now (Tho)” by RichGirl?!

 

I went fucking nuts. It’s my favorite new song.

So we may or may not have picked up a random cutie who was new to the city and brought him back to Pieces. 

Everyone in our clique may or may not have actively tried to hook up with him.

Of course, everyone was headed to Hudson Terrace for the open bar on Sunday. I skipped up to my favorite bartender (at that party, anyway), and ordered 2 screwdrivers.

“That’ll be $11?”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, almost laughing.

“Yeah, it’s 2-4-1 this week, not open bar. Sorry.”

Well, it was fun while it lasted. Now, I’ll be the first one to say that Hudson Hotel on Sundays is probably the cutest gay party in NYC, but I can do 2-4-1 on 9^th ave!

Nothing particularly interesting was happening there (especially after the 2-4-1 drink special ended… on the $11 drinks!), so we went to Posh instead. While it wasn’t particularly crowded, we managed to have a sinful amount of fun there.

Did I mention that I actually got home before midnight?! Yeah!

Did you catch my post from Friday? Click here to see video of Med School Mess 'voguing'.

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