Hope you douched! (The Ivy League Crew Invades Philly Part I)

When 20 gay Ivy Leaguers (et al.) take a road trip to a new city, debauchery and crazy sex are inevitable.

image from publicadvocatescorner.com

After the 'success' of our DC trip, Rutgirls organized the Crew for a trip to Philadelphia for Columbus Day Weekend. The original plan was an overnight trip on Saturday like the last one, but after a few of us expressed interest, Rutgirls booked a couple of rooms for Friday night. The plus side: it was $20/pp/night. The downside: we had to do each night in a different hotel.

RSTLNE drove Urban Sprawl and me down, and we arrived around 9:30, around the same time as Morehead, who was traveling for work that week. Meanwhile, Rutgirls was in a friend's car that was about an hour behind us. We really couldn't check into the room without her, and she was staying in a different hotel from us! We called her, and after about 20 minutes of back-and-forth with Priceline, they let is check into our room without too much drama.

We showered, changed, and primped in preparation for hitting the town. AdamFaceHunt, who was staying in Philly with his boyfriend, instructed us to meet him and his friend's at Knock, a sports bar in the middle of the gayborhood.

image from courierpostonline.com

AdamFaceHunt made introductions between his Philly friends and his NYC friends over drinks. Morehead introduced at least 2 guys he'd had sex with during his work travels. Around midnight, it became apparent that this scene was dying and that people were starting to migrate. The next stop: Tavern.

Tavern seems to be a venue with no lack of character. The main floor is a piano bar, but it's a bit more lounge-singer-sing-along because the piano player has a microphone that's amplified throughout the whole floor. Other piano bars I've been to tend to be more acoustic and keep the piano scene at the piano.

The upstairs is a dance club with no cover. Every single wall is covered in mirrors. The DJ sits in an inaccessible, almost invisible perch (there's one way of avoiding requests) and plays dance remixes of pop songs. It gets crowded.

image from clumsycrooks.com

The NYC boys from the other car met up with us on the dance floor. As we established our space, I noticed a reasonably cute, youngish guy awkwardly of looming in our area but not really talking to anyone. I mouthed to Rutgirls, "Do we know her?" She responded with a WTF look. Not 10 minutes later, Urban Sprawl was grinding with him.

Me: "I call the single bed in our room! Unless you just WANT to wake up to my morning wood. You read my post from Fire Island!"

I turned to head to the bar, but something stopped me in my tracks.

image from calamusbooks.com

"Does anyone else see the chemistry between [NYC gay] and [beautiful doctor who went to med school in NYC and is now doing residency in Philly]? Who the hell is gonna be the top?!"

One of AdamFaceHunt's hot-bodied friends (whom I had met at Asbury Park this summer I'll call him Phillo Fortune for reasons that may or may not become obvious) was egging me on to take off my shirt. I usually see that as a bit desperate, but in a foreign city, who cares! My only reservations were a) the "Proper Attire Must Be Worn" sign and b) I wanted to give my "Beauty Is a Talent" shirt a bit more play. Between disrobing entreaties, Phillo Fortune mentioned that he liked my" friend in the black polo," RSTLNE (who was now sporting a polarizing beard that made him look quite Middle Eastern). Before I even got to the point of taking my shirt off, they already had made out, and RSTLNE had already wandered off.

Phillo: "What's black polo's name again? Matt... Mike... Mark..."

Me: "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

Phillo: "I can't find him. I think he's avoiding me."

Me: "Was his glass empty? He probably went to the bar. See, there he goes with a fresh drink. Hope you douched!"

image from visitphilly.com

So it turned out that RSTLNE just wasn't that into her. Which was sad because if she would have gone home with Phillo Fortune (Morehead was already making bottom eyes at some TSWB), I would have had the holel room to myself. Not that I had any prospects of taking advantage of that (and of course, taking my shirt off did nothing to change that), but the opportunity would have been nice.

By the end of the night (Philly bars close at 2), I was dancing shirtless with Phillo Fortune's pixie, and Morehead's TSWB was getting Españard's number. It was definitely diner time.

We tromped over to Midtown II Restaurant, which, while being exactly what I needed at the time, was less scene than I was expecting at closing time in the middle of the Gayborhood.

Did I mention that starting a Wicked sing-along with a gay who is clearly more drunk than you is just mean? Yeah.

Click here to check out the mess that was our group trip to DC.

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