On the morning after the Mardi Gras Party, The Aussie left sometime before noon, but I really didn't get going until 2. I had no appetite, so I got dressed and headed directly to to the subway (for the first time since the day I landed) en route to Toybox, the recovery party. I was super excited because it was being held at Luna Park, which I figured was a huge amusement park with roller coasters. I got there and found out it was more like the kids' section of 6 Flags. I was even more disappointed when I walked into a 50'x100' space that wasn't even that crowded.
. o O (This is it?! No wonder it had sold out so quickly.)
Then I noticed people going through sets of doors on the other side. I walked through to find a balcony that overlooked a huge arena. This was definitely more what I was looking for. It literally looked a cross between Aliens (when they walk in on the room full of eggs) and the third Matrix movie.
After traversing the crowd, settled on the outskirts of the party, gyrating ambiguously to the pumping house music. I started dancing with and talking to a cute shirtless white guy from Melbourne, probably in his late 30s. He was nice, but didn't quite want to get tied to a guy so early. Plus, I was starting to get my appetite back, and they were selling meat pies upstairs.
I went outside and tried to find a spot where I wouldn't be overwhelmed with smoke. A guy in his 40s came up to me and commented on... well, basically everything. Within 10 minutes, he'd flashed the keys to his convertable Mercedes and offered to show me a beautiful lagoon-type area an hour south of the city. He only stopped talking long enough for me to answer his questions, which would lead into additional monologues about either how fabulous he was or how attracted to me he was. The worst was when he ran into a friend of his ex's, an in-shape African guy. He kept comparing us, saying things like, "No, you're not hot! D. Kareem is the definition of hot! I'd shag him in a second... but only if he asked me to."
The whole time he was wearing these too-cool-for-school shades. When his friend grabbed them at one point, I realized he was actually more attractive than I thought. But he was a bit much for me to leave with. He did, however, tell me about LoveGay, a party going on later that night in King's Cross (which, before it was revitalized, was not unlike pre-Giuliani Times Square).
I walked out of my hotel and was greeted by yelling from a drunk Lebanese-looking guy: "Hey Mista Busta, where you at!" Then the guy started beat-boxing, except he was making fart sounds. I quickened my pace to The Cross.The party was cute. Corey Craig was DJing, and I ran into Minoritee Colin and S(he)quida (out of drag) in the small club. The Mercedes Guy from Toybox showed up shirtless with a big church-lady hat. I was pretty psyched when a really hot guy started talking to me, but I realized it was because I was cackling with his wife not long before. I was quite ready to leave when it closed down at 2:30.
Monday, I went to Bondi Beach and had a relaxing day of reading and staring at wonderfully shaped asses. I was supposed to grab a drink with this guy from Manhunt, but he never texted me back. I lay down for a 30-minute nap back at the hotel around 9. I woke up to someone coming into my room.
Me: "Hello?"
Him: "Ey, what's going on, mate."
The door to my room never closed all the way unless you gave it a really good push/pull, but it always looked closed. I just stared at him in the dark, wondering if he was trying to rob me or if this was standard procedure for this hotel's staff. He finally took at look at me and said, "Oh... sorry, mate," closing the door.
I looked at the clock. It was 11:30. I needed a drink.
An hour later, I walked into Stonewall to a not-so-sparse crowd. A loud, drunk, Aussie woman came over and yelled in my ear how hot I was and how I shouldn't be drinking alone. A while after she wandered back to her friends, a redhead in his late 30s walked in. I caught his eye and smiled as he went by. He took two steps, turned around and came back.
We were having a nice conversation. But the Aussie girl stumbled back over. She gave him a once-over and "whispered" in my hear, "He's not hot enough for you. I'm sure the conversation's good, but you can do so much better."
Smiling, I replied, "I'm having a nice time, thank you." She got the hint and wandered off, but this happened at least once more before she left the bar.
The readhead didn't offer to buy me a drink, and mine had been empty for a while, so I asked if I could get him one while I was getting one. He said no and left soon thereafter, which sucked because I would have gone to another bar instead of buying another drink. I gulped that drink down and headed to The Colombian just before the 2am lockout.
I was kind of bored there, and the redhead texted that I was welcome to come over. I asked him for directions, and he responded that he would come and get me. This immediately made me suspicious, but mostly I was frustrated because that meant I had to sit and wait rather than being in control.
I don't even put up with shit like this below 96th St (and I'm invisible there)! Did I mention I had a plane to catch? Yeah.
Click here to check out my adventures at Sydney's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras '10.
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