good sex and a good meal (the rest of my memorial day weekend)

After a less than awesome Friday, I tweeted TTT to see if he wanted to do drunk brunch. She was all about it. I tried Bottomless Pitt. Her response:

A small crew of us gathered at Maracas in the West Village for toast and tequila. And since everyone who had any sort of disposable income (or a place to crash) was spending the long weekend at some beach, there was no wait for a table outside.

Have you ever had a friend who feel obligated to go to someone’s house party, so they try to sensationalize it (read: lie) to make it more appealing to the people they’re trying to rope into their obligation? So it went with Ms W towards the end of brunch. It worked for about 5 minutes until someone asked: “Are we gonna be the only gays there?”

image from city-data.com

Me: “You know what: it’s not that far into Brooklyn; it’s got outdoor space; and for us to split a bottle will be cheaper than drinking all afternoon at a bar. Besides, who the hell are you gonna pick up during happy hour on a Saturday?! Consider it an extended pre-game before we go back out.”

Ms W’s description: first stop in Brooklyn

Reality: 3^rd stop in Brooklyn

Ms W’s description: rooftop terrace

Reality: back yard

Ms W’s description: “I’ll get sausages!”

Reality: Okay, I can't even hate: those sausages were slammin'!

The place was actually kind of terrific. The hosts were welcoming, and the guests were actually interesting people. It was all very laid back, and the weather was great. Around sunset, we ventured back into the city, ending the night uneventfully at Pieces (except for TTT, who ended up making out with some guy in a "London Rocks" tshirt).

image from photobucket.com

I woke up at tOWGA’s place in Harlem with a bag packed for my Cherry Grove adventure with the Ivy League Crew et al. For those unfamiliar, NYC doesn’t so much have nice beaches, so many opt for Long Island shores. Fire Island, part of Long Island, is where the rich daddies and young banker gays go to spend oodles of money to “get away.” There are two neighboring gay sections: the Pines and Cherry Grove. The Pines is more of a Hell’s Kitchen and Chelsea-type crowd, and the few places to go in town are all owned by the same corporation. The Grove has more of a West Village vibe. Plus, there are more places to eat, more/later nightlife, and more general diversity than the Pines.

So anyway, I was all ready to go to a pool party in Cherry Grove, and tOWGA asked me if I wanted eggs. With turkey. And toast. I'm a sucker for good sex and a good meal.

I missed the train by 3 minutes. Now, I could have taken the next train, but I had the following factors to consider: no one had texted me about running late for the train (which led me to believe that no one else was catching the original train, so I’d’ve been alone on the 2.5-hour trip… mostly because there was a last-minute car arrangement that I wasn’t included on); and the next train left 2 hours later (meaning I ‘d get out there around 3). So what did I do? I went back home.

I had a great lie-out at the Pier, and I got a chance to check out the new Q-Tea party at G Lounge. Scotty Rox was DJ-ing, so that guaranteed at least good music. And when I arrived, he handed me a drink ticket and told me to come up in the booth with him. I was just going to have a drink or two, but I ended up staying until DJ Xavier kicked me out to take over for Küte. I wandered off to find food and ended up at Posh with Scotty and Mimi Imfurst.

Mimi was hosting a competition for theater tickets, so I figured why not. Scotty made sure I got picked, and Mimi explained that we were going to be quizzed on trivia.

Mimi: “Name the 13th president of the United States.”

Guy: “Uh... Roosevelt?”

Mimi: “Wrong. Take your shirt off... Now you: name one color in the US flag.”

Me: “Blue.”

Mimi: “You are correct! Now, take your shirt off.”

It didn't take a genius to see where this game show was going. Once we were down to our underwear, we had to go into the audience (shorts/pants around our ankles) and collect tips. Whoever had the most tips won. And with $2, I came in dead last.

Dead. Last.

Two fucking dollars?! Really, Hell's Kitchen?!! The best part: the prize was tickets to a show I'd seen the previous week.

So then I ran into the Spanish DILF (who, of course, saw the stage shenanigans). Turns out he was out of the country from a couple of weeks after our encounter to about a week and a half before this night. We talked for a good half hour or more. It was going great until he pulled out the I-should-get-to-bed line. Seriously?!

Did I mention that I really need to stop getting naked for free stuff (until I get www.TheBlackoutBlog.com tattoed on my chest)? Yeah.

Click here to check out the night everyone was in heat at DR!P.

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