"Fuck it! I'm on vacation!" (Melbourne Day 4, Part 2)

The guy on the other side of Boobie Bird’s phone conversation came over (you know, the one she’d have to fuck to get the drugs), and he was young. Cute. Kind of a used-to-play-football build. Could definitely stand to get back in the gym (and undoubtably fatter than the last time they'd, er, gotten together a year ago), but still cute. And I’m sure the alleged cock size helped. I left them in the kitchen, excusing myself to the patio along with everyone else. A few minutes later, I passed through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom and heard, “Naaaaaeeeeeeeuuuu (Australian for ‘no’), you’re too big!” Not sure what part of him she was talking about, but I had to run to the bathroom to keep from guffawing in front of them.

It wasn’t long before they disappeared to her room. And not very long after that before she came out to the patio with her hair tied up into a quite sloppy ponytail.

It was a bright afternoon when the guy arrived and said his dealer would be there in about an hour. It was pitch black out by the time this guy actually arrived. Just like that, they had their product, and the guy was gone.

Oz Paws: “Do you want a line?”

Me: “No, thanks!”

Me (2 minutes later): “You know what. I’m on vacation! Let me get a tiny bump.”

Oz Paws collected a small mound of powder on the corner of a credit card and handed it to me. I turned my head to exhale (and not blow the bump into the air), and with a quick sniff, it cleared my nostrils. It didn’t sting or make me want to sneeze as I'd always imagined it would. It was actually kind of a fun rush/altered state. I felt a bit silly and loud, but I felt more energetic and empowered. I understood how people did such silly things on this stuff.

Oz Paws (holding the studded leather Absolut bottle cover): "You still have to put on your costume!"

Me: "Huh? You funny."

Paws: "Come on! You said you would do it!

Me: "Dude, that was a joke. I'm not doing that shit!"
Paws: "Fine, I'll do it first and then you do it. We have two of them!"

This fool came out of the bathroom in nothing but a leather studded bottle cover.

Boobie Bird: "Oh my god! Wait, I have a fur! And some sunnies! This is gonna be perfect!"
Paws: "Come on, mate. I did it, so now you have to. And you'll look so much hotter."
Me (pausing): "Fuck it! I'm on vacation!"

We went into the bathroom (as I'm typing this, I'm stopping and shaking my head in disbelief), I stripped down, and we put on (are you serious) the furs and sun glasses. And we walked out (lawd help) holding the studded leather bottle covers to our crotches.

You didn't think I was gonna post the full picture, did you? Ha!

But add me on Facebook, and you can see the whole photo ;-)

Everyone was squealing with laughter and (iCant) snapping photos. I had a good laugh for about 5 minutes before backing out of the kitchen into the bathroom to put on some undies.

Boobie Bird: "D. Kareem... seriously... no seriously, I need you to put some pants on. You're really turning me on right now, and it's not okay... seriously."

I guess that wasn't the best time to run over and hump her leg, huh.

I put on some pants and had another drink before we jumped in cabs to Love Machine. I had a long conversation with the coat-check girl (not long, but long for a coat-check interaction) about my bag… my travels… my life. When I finally wandered into the venue, it was pretty crowded. Searching for the others, I ran into a bunch of drag queens, the most familiar of which (I'd seen her perform a previous night) pulled me in for a hug.

Drag Queen: “Come here! How are you! You know I worry about you.”

Me: “You worry about me?”

Drad Queen: “Yes, dear! So take care of yourself!”

Me: “I’ll be sure to.”

I noticed that there was a remarkable number of women at this party. Women dancing with men. Men who seemed less interested in the design of their dresses than how to find the zipper. That’s when I realized that this was a truly mixed party.

I stayed for a while, but around 12:30, I decided that it was time for a more M4M scene. On the way out, I stopped into the bathroom. A really tall, hot guy started talking to me. I thought he was into me until he pulled out his phone to show me how cute his “gay brother” was.

Then he said this: “I have a lil gram on me. I’d never sell it, but if you want a little bit...”

. o O (He’s obviously not trying to get me home, and if anything is in this stuff, it’ll at least take til I get outside the club and down the street to take effect. Fuck it: I’ll risk a tiny bump.)

We "gave dap" on my way into the stall (Aussies call it a cubicle) and on my way out. He wished me a good night, and I was off. Unfortunately, all the gay bars I went to on Commercial St. were absolutely dead. Xchange wasn’t even open! I admitted defeat and went home, hoping to get a full night’s sleep in before the banging started.

Did I mention I only had one more day left in Oz? Yeah.

Click here to check out the beginning of Day 4 in Melbourne, Australia.

Got a question for me? Click here to ask it anonymously (and see my answers to other questions).

In the US it’s OUI: Operating Under the Influence (Melbourne Day 4, Part 1)

After the late night at Market, I somehow ended up sleeping til about 2 before construction woke me up. I had a leisurely breakfast before heading to the pool. And as soon as I got on the tram, I kicked myself for forgetting a towel to lie out on.

It was a beautiful day, but between my late start and the commute time, I didn’t end up getting to Prahran til about 4. As I was walking to the pool’s entrance, I noticed through the gate that there seemed to be a lot more children than I expected at what I thought was a notoriously sceney spot. I really didn’t get a chance to suss it out because as I was about to go in, Oz Paws, Blonde Bird, and Tweeked Twink were coming out.

Oz Paws: “That card was so confusing! We didn’t know what country code to dial to reach you.”

Me: “Well, for future reference, it’s +1, then the number. You guys are heading out?”

Paws: “Yeah, there’s not much going on there, and we’re out of vodka.”

Me: “Ah, okay. I was gonna just sit and have a perv [i.e., look at hot guys].”

Blonde Bird: “Well, there’s not much of a perv there at all! You should come with us. We’re going back to my place in Richmond.”

Me: “Where is Richmond.”

Paws: “It’s literally right across the river. Come! We’ll catch a cab.”

Tweeked Twink: “We need to go to the liquor store! And I need some more drugs.”

Blonde Bird: “And who’s gonna pay for this…”

Here I was in a foreign country getting into a cab to god-knows-where with a group of people on god-knows-what (though Tweeked Twink seemed to be the only one truly out of it). I dealt with my apprehension by messing with Tweeked Twink in his altered state as he babbled in the back seat.

Tweeked: “There’s this song by this girl—”

Me: “Lady Gaga?”

Tweeked: “No no no! She’s blonde and tall—”

Me: “Lady Gaga.”

Tweeked: “No, she’s that guy’s daughter! She’s like 6’2!”

Me (lower): “Lady Gaga.”

Tweeked: “The wrestler’s daughter! With the show!”
Me: “Brooke Hogan?”

Tweeked: “Yeah! Brooke Hogan! She’s got this song that sounds just like—”

Me: “Lady Gaga.”

Tweeked: “I’ve never seen worse cab driving in my life! In London, we would have been there by now! Honestly—”

Paws: “Will you shut the fuck up! There’s traffic, and this street’s only one lane. You’re really showing your age.”

Me (grabbing the studded leather cover for the Absolut bottle): “I think I’ve found my outfit for tonight.”

Paws: “Hot!”

Me: “This and some boots, and I’ll be all set!”

Blonde Bird lived in a very cute, newly renovated house with another RG and a gay (with whom Oz Paws and Tweeked Twink had a 3-some the night before... oddly, he was mostly keeping to himself that day). The living room was immaculate except for a stray Jessica Simpson-brand clip-in hair extension on the couch, which I promptly clipped on as a fringe and kept on for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as the bottles hit the countertop, Paws was asking whether people wanted “cran or fizzy razzberry” for their vodka. Tweeked Twink poured himself a glass of boxed wine before bounding like a Labrador into the other RG's room, carrying her out like a new bride over a threshold. She'd obviously been asleep.

Tweeked: “Boobie Bird! Wake up and show D. Kareem your tits! She got the best boob job!”

Her (rubbing her eyes): “Noooooooo…”

Me: “Dude, be a gentleman! Let her finish her first drink before the show!”

Her (toasting): “Exactly.”

Me: “Oh my god! I love that shirt! It’s very Paris Hilton!”

Her: “Well, it’s more Paris, France.”

Me: “In the US it’s OUI: Operating Under the Influence. Like drink driving [they don't call it 'drunk driving' there].”

Her: “Here, you take the shirt and give me your camera. I’ll get a picture of you in it.”

Oz Paws decided that she couldn’t get through the night without some chemical substances. This made sense because Tweeked Twink had crashed on the couch in the most glamourous pass-out pose I’ve ever seen with a glass of boxed wine balanced in his hand (of course, I didn't think to snap a photo til after I saved the alcohol). When the Birds asked what it was Paws was after, he responded, “whatever I can get” (thank you, Facebook circa 2004). No one seemed to know anyone who could get anything except for Boobie Bird, who in the middle of a text-fight because she’d called her DJ ex-boyfriend over to the house the night before when she was super drunk. He’d gone through her phone and found the texts to her emergency-dick-in-a-glass, and he got all mad… as if they were still dating (I try to be exclusive with all my exes).

Boobie Bird managed to find a young guy that used to be a fuck buddy of hers, but she hadn’t seen him in about a year. “You know Garret Hayden’s Guitars [made up name] in Prahran? He’s Garret’s son! He has the biggest cock! It was seriously massive! Let me give him a call.”

She worked her magic, using the word “baaaaaabe” at least 3 time a minute.

“Baaaaaabe, you always said you loved my heart!... Sure, yeah, he can come over. [Blonde Bird was motioning ‘Hell no!’ and Boobie Bird waved her off.] Half an hour? Okay, I’ll see you then!”

Blonde Bird rolled her eyes: “Seriously, I don’t’ want a whole bunch of people over.”

Boobie Bird: “It’s not going to be a ‘whole bunch of people.’ It’s just some Asian guy that has the stuff. He’s gonna drop it off and leave. Anyway, I’m gonna have to fuck this guy to get this coke for you guys, so you had better be appreciating this.”

Oz Paws: “Oh, please! It’s not like you’re even getting us a discount!”

Boobie: “You guys had better go get cash. Go!”

Did I mention the afternoon only got crazier from there? Yeah.

Click here to check out Day 2 & 3 in Melbourne.

Got a question for me? Click here to ask it anonymously (and see my answers to other questions).

Images borrowed from resources1.news.com.au and blog.albumartexchange.com.

Sober Moment 4.23.10 Fun with Grindr Convos (The Down Under Edition)

Even in an English-speaking country, things can get lost in translation. Sometimes, I would look at my phone and yell, “Speak Amurakin’!”

Some of you, who saw me on Grinder before the iron fist of oppression slammed down rules changed, may remember how my screenname is TheBlackoutBlog and my profile had my URL in it...

Currency was an issue as well.

(this was his opener)

And so was imperial vs. metric.

For the record, I hate talking about my dick with guys who haven't seen it.

And I think this guy had already translated to American.

BTW, that "But" was leading into a pitch for the blog. I swear.

Click here to check out more Fun with Grindr Down Under.

Got a question for The Blackout Blog? Click here to ask it anonymously (and see my answers to other questions).

avoid him for the rest of the night (Day 2 and 3 in Melbourne)

So this guy and I ended up crashing in my hotel room around 6 in the morning. It was about 9:30 when the banging started. I figured it was a plumber working on the pipes in the bathroom on the other side of the wall, but after 2 hours of intermittent banging and metal sawing, I called the front desk. They informed me that the noise was coming from the renovation project (which I later found out was happening on the roof) and that the work would likely happen from about 9am to about 7pm. He said something about them mentioning the renovation on the website, but he also mentioned that I could be refunded my money for the rest of the week if I wanted to check out. It was tempting, but it was already after check-out time for the day. I figured I may as well stick with the convenient location and just vary my sleep schedule.

The Twipster was about to implode with hunger, so as soon as I was finished dealing with reception, he dragged my out (unshowered) to grab some really cheap, really good Japanese around the corner. He had to run to Fitzroy (not far from where we were the night before) to get his car, so I figured I’d come with him to see the area. On the way, we ran into two girlfriends of his, both of which draped themselves in bright colored fabric and eyeshadow. In fact, the eye shadow was more of a fashion accessory worn like glasses than an accent to bring out their natural features.

Once we got to the Twipster’s car, he took me back down to St. Kilda to the beach.

Him: “The only people who really go swimming here are the tourists who don’t know any better. The water even looks murky with the run-off from the city, and there’s a much better beach about 10 kilometers south of here. Really, I wouldn’t even walk in the sand; god knows what you’ll step on.”

Me: “Kinda like Coney Island…”

We walked around for a bit longer before he went back to his apartment and I returned to the Central Business District (CBD). By this time, it was well into the afternoon, but I really wanted to get a jump start on shopping before the weekend crowds came in. I went to Target and David Jones, a large Aussie department store, and picked up a few pairs of underwear that I’d never seen in the US. I don’t really like brandishing familiar brand names, but I love a cute waistband. Even better if it’s a brand (like Holeproof or Bonds) that isn’t readily available in NYC.

My day was kind of ruined when I went across the street to Myer, another department store, and found they had the same brands on sale.

I finally made it back for a few hours sleep around 6. This night, I had planned to go down to Prahran, the shopping district with what seemed to be the more popular and trendy clubs. My first stop was Xchange Hotel. As I was waiting for my drink in the front bar, a rough-looking guy (not necessarily in a sexy way) came up and ordered a beer and a shot of Bacardi 151.

Me: “Wow, I didn’t know they had that here. I couldn’t find it anywhere in ’03.”

Him: “Watch this.”

He took the shot without so much as a grimace, searching my face for approval. I took that as a sign to avoid him for the rest of the night.

I saw a sign that mentioned their free WiFi, so I asked a bartender for the password. He didn’t know, so he asked another bartender, who didn’t know. I got a “Wait here” while they ran into the other bar to ask someone else. About 3 minutes later, a super-hot dark-skinned guy (perhaps Middle Eastern?) came out and told me the password. I was really kind of embarrassed that this much of a production was made for me to sign onto Grindr. And even worse, about 5 minutes later, I overheard, “HA! He’s on Grindr!”

. o O (Well, if you could attract more hotties to your bar…)

The real issue was that everyone was upstairs on the terrace smoking. The Twipster had told me that when they had outlawed smoking in bars, venues with no outdoor space went out of business. Keep in mind, this is a country where the cigarettes come with pictures of cancerous flesh on each pack.

Later, there was a drag performance with at least 5 young drag queens in the larger back bar. Some of these drag queens were obviously professional dancers because a few performances came off as much more look-at-how-well-I-dance rather than look-at-how-lady-like-I-am. After the 20-minute show, the DJ played the music video for “Telephone” (which had just come out that day). An older drag queen who was MC-ing announced that the bar had comp admissions for Market, a club down the street that everyone had suggested (in much the same way that people in NYC suggest Splash to out-of-towners), from 2 to 2:15am.

A guy started talking to me because I was alone and on my phone. Really, I was just doing a final Grindr check before I left because it was almost 2 (and I really didn’t want to pay to get into Market). The guy brought me over to his friends, who were cordial but basically cleared out within 5 minutes. . o O (WTF? Did I step into a portal back to NYC?! Am I serving aloof realness again? Do I smell?) I took the guy’s “I did my best, mate!” as my cue to make my exit for Market.

Market was disappointingly empty, so I got my stamp for re-entry and stopped by Heaven’s Door, a divey pub next door (with non-divey prices… but no cover). They had a drag show with 2 queens going on, and after the show, they played some fun hop-hop/pop music.

Market ended up being a good time. It was just crowded enough to be interesting. Guys actually had their shirts off (I don’t think anyone had a shirt off at either bar the night before)! The DJ pumped the common-time gay music while the dance floor lit up with an awesome laser show.

I happened to be wearing my “Beauty is a talent” shirt again. The guy on visuals obviously got a kick out of this because he started displaying messages based on my shirt such as “And Talent is a Beauty” and “Beauty is only Tshirt deep.”

That Saturday, I went shopping all down Chapel St. All afternoon, I wandered in and out of at least 30 shops. Everything was either too expensive for what it was (exchange rate!) or just not for me. The only thing I did get was a new piece of nipple jewelry that was a 360-degree ring with no balls. I later realized that no one would notice the novelty of this piece unless they were very familiar with body piercings, but it's like a hoop earring with no visible clasp.

That night, I met up with a guy from A4A. He had very sexy pictures, but he was a total gentleman when we met up at Greyhound Hotel. He even said, “I have to work tomorrow morning, so you do your own thing tonight. I can drop you off if you wanna go somewhere else after this." I had him drop me off at Market without so much as a goodnight kiss. Or even an “accidental” feel-up the whole night.

I got hit on by a couple of guys, but no one who drove me wild with desire. The first guy I tried to initiate something with either didn’t get it or was too wrapped up with his friends (because there was no way he could have been flat out turning me down… obvi). The other guy showed up around 5am by himself with his shirt off. I saw him looking at me, so I went over and talked to him for about 5 or 10 minutes before he said, “Well, I have a boyfriend, but do you see any talent you’re interested in?” A smooth rejection for sure. Too bad none of the ‘talent’ had ‘beauty.’

A guy I had talked to briefly on the dance floor came back around 6 and somehow coaxed me onto the roof deck (smoke!). He introduced me to a rather motley crew that, among others, included a Tweeked Twink (who wasn’t really a twink, but we’ll just go with it for the cute name) and a pixie-ish RG called Blonde Bird. Of the 6 people, the latter seemed to be the most rational and the former was… well, rather obnoxious in a way that (hopefully) only drugs would bring out. Oz Paws, who had introduced me to everyone, was the older boyfriend of the 22-year-old Tweeked Twink. We were talking to the head promoter of Disgraceland, a new party that had kicked off that night in a different club in the neighborhood.

Oz Paws: “Ok, guys! Let’s go back to Blonde Bird’s house. D. Kareem, you’re coming with us. Do you smoke crystal?”

Me: “Have you not seen the Meth=HIV posters in every bathroom in NYC! No, I don’t.”

Oz Paws: “I have to get my bag from downstairs. Bird, do you have a pipe at your place?”

Me: “I should go back to the hotel. I really need some sleep.”

Blonde Bird: “We’re catching a cab. Can we give you a lift?”

Me: “Unless you guys are going into the city…”

Oz Paws: “Well, you must come to the pool later! It’s going to be 30 degrees tomorrow! It’s literally right behind that Hungry Jack’s on the corner of Chapel St!”

I gave them a card with my number, and they promised to call. Did I mention I had about an hour and a half before construction was supposed to start up again at the hotel? Yeah.

Click here to check out my first night in Melbourne.

Got a question for The Blackout Blog? Click here to ask it anonymously (and see my answers to other questions).

everyone was dressed exactly the same! (A day in Byron Bay and Night 1 in Melbourne)

I woke up on Wednesday with the previous day’s shorts and socks still on. It was a clear and sunny day, so Spectalkular and I went into Byron Bay to have breakfast at a café. In the process of finding some kitschy gifts for The Fam in town, I stumbled upon some awesomely scenic framed photos of the Byron Bay beaches. They seemed perfect for the new apartment, so I shelled out the cash for 3 of them. It would have been $90 to DHL them, but I had the shopkeeper wrap them up and sent them via sea mail for $30. They should arrive in the summer. No, seriously: sea mail takes 2-3 months.

Spec drove me around to see the views and beaches. Normally, I’m not much of a look-at-this-view person, but a) he was really excited about it, b) there wasn’t much else to do, and c) the views were absolutely (for lack of a better word) spectacular.

We raced back to Spec’s house for a few before heading to Tom and Jerry’s for a bottle of wine. Tom pulled out a print of a beautiful picture of Byron Bay’s beach and told me it was mine to keep! After a few laughs, we headed into Mullimbimby to pick up Spec's boy and Spec’s friend, the Anglican minister, on the way to the Mullimbimby Golf Club for Thai food. Why a tiny town’s golf club had a Thai restaurant was beyond me, but Spec’s boy informed me that it had been written up as a top-10 restaurant of Australia. We walked in to find that it was exactly what you would expect for an old Aussie golf club in the country: nothing special or fancy about any of the décor or the atmosphere. But the food, which we shared family style, was excellent.

On the way back after dropping our dinner companions off, Spec filled me in on the details of what had happened that night that his friend had banned the boy from his house. They had gone to an afternoon gathering, and he had drank quite a bit. Then they went back to his grandmother’s house where he downed a bottle of champagne. Then he insisted that Spec take him to a friend’s party, which Spec refused to do because he had a party of his own.

They got to the party, which was at a beautiful house down a dirt road (Spec and I had stayed there last time I was in Oz) and the boy made a pretty large ass of himself there. Then he demanded cigarettes (not that he couldn’t bum one off someone else, but he wanted his own brand). Spec had drank too much to risk driving, so he offered to drive him to the end of the dirt road. Something happened where the kid didn’t get his way, and he threw a rock at Spec in his car. Luckily, the window was down.

Me: “Wait, he threw a rock at your head!”

Him: “Yeah, he did.”

Me: “And you’re still with him?! I mean, I don’t care how drunk the kid was! If you’re capable of doing something like that to someone you supposedly care about, you just don’t get drunk!”

Him: “I guess you’re right. I mean, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Me: “Dude, you sound like a battered wife. A guy you’re dating shouldn’t be trying to do you physical harm in any situation. You’re too good of a catch for that.”

On Thursday, Spec took me back into town to run a few last-minute errands and to see more of the surrounding area, including Wategos Beach and the Byron Bay Lighthouse. Spec had to run, so his friend the Anglican minister took me to the airport. 45 minutes with a stranger could have been torture (especially since the radio wasn’t on... something I’ve noticed with my Aussie drivers), but we actually had a pleasant ride. Even if I was inadvertently cursing up a storm in front of a preacher.

Thursday night, I landed in Melbourne. Although the Skybus took forever (mostly because it left right as I was buying my ticket and I had to wait for the 2^nd fleet of mini-busses for the hotel transfer), it was half the price of a cab and dropped me off at the hotel door. I dropped my bags, changed, and asked for directions to the nearest bottle shop.

I’d decided that my first night would be spent in Collingworth, which I took to be more like The Village of Melbourne. It was quite a hike from the hotel, but it was nice out (and I had a good buzz). My first stop was Sircuit, and when I saw the long line at A Bar Called Barry across the street, I figured it was a good move. Sircuit reminds me of Rawhide in Chelsea, but about 4x as big (and that’s just the first floor) and not quite as full-on with the leather/grunge. And the staff was much more, er, service oriented. A large bar was towards the front, and a bunch of pool tables were in the back. They were playing Bugs Bunny and Marvin the Martian on the video screens.

It was pretty sparse. My first thought was that it would crowd up later, but it was already after midnight. I basically had a drink, took a piss, and left.

In the 20 minutes that I had been at Sircuit, the line at A Bar Called Barry had shrunk significantly. When I got to the front, the bouncer looked at my New York ID and told me I needed my passport. He went into some story I really didn’t want to hear (I really hate it when people who aren’t close to me give unsolicited explanations as to why I’m not getting what I want: all their further talking does is delay me from getting to a better situation). I figured I’d head down to Peel and see if they were being as strict. When some people I passed on their way out told me, “It’ll be good in another hour.” I figured my best course of action was to take a cab back to the hotel and get my passport.

Once I got into A Bar Called Barry, it seemed like everyone was dressed exactly the same! It was almost like I had walked into Sugarland, except more uniform. Everyone had a base of a loose tshirt/tunic/singlet (aka tank top) with dark skinny jeans. I started to get really self-conscious about what I was wearing until I remembered that even if I had worn the skinny jeans I had packed, I would still stand out like a sore thumb. The great thing about the dress here, though, was the accessorizing. Everyone seemed to have very unique details that set their iteration of the uniform apart from the crowd.

I got a drink (and soon learned that Aussies aren’t that big on drink specials, especially with liquor) and wandered around the main dance floor. I spotted a few guys doing the “Bad Romance” dance, so I jumped in on the second chorus. I talked to these guys for a bit before wandering to the upper floor where they were playing some hip-hop-sounding music that I wasn’t familiar with. On the way out, I asked and was informed that this was a gay night at a straight club and not a gay club.

I strolled down to Peel, which seemed to be largely the same crowd, though it didn’t strike me as being as severely uniform as Barry’s. It had multiple dance-friendly areas, and a large, walled in smoking area that was taken up by smokers (of course). As I tried to get a feel for the place, I ended up making eye contact with a twinkish hipster-looking guy. We ended up buying a couple of rounds of drinks by the back bar before he straight up asked if he could kiss me. It literally made me laugh, but I guess it worked.

Did I mention that I will take a cab across town to avoid using water-based lube? Yeah.

Click here to check out my first night with the Aussie ex... and his boyfriend.

Image borrowed from carlisle.k12.ma.us

too many options on a Tuesday night

By the time I caught my flight to The Gold Coast (about 850km north), I was pretty much over Sydney. My itinerary said that I was taking off at 10:10am and landing at 10:35am, so I was a bit confused when they started bringing the drink cart around. It definitely wasn’t a 25-minute flight. As soon as we landed, I texted Spectalkular (known for his animated, theatrical speech in everyday conversation) to apologize for making him come early. It wasn’t til about two minutes later that I realized that we were in a different time zone.

Spectalkular (class of ’92ish) and I dated when I was in Sydney in ’03 after he’d just lost a bunch of weight on the Atkins diet. It’d been 6 and a half years since we’d met, and, though we were in sporadic email contact, we hadn’t so much as exchanged a picture since I’d left. I was relieved when he stepped out of his car and looked exactly the same as before. You don't know how many people I've given the screw-face because I didn't recognize them with an extra 40lbs.

We spent most of the ride to his house outside of Byron Bay catching up on each other’s lives. Spectalkular found his heart quite inconveniently attached when we parted ways. A month or two later, he met a guy close to his age who had recently come out. They got off to a rather rocky start because Spec wouldn’t let himself get close to the guy, but things got better with time. Fast forward to today: they're broken up but still share the house that they'd bought and are currently in the process of renovating. And Spec’s ex wasn’t exactly thrilled about the fact that Spec had moved on. Luckily, he was out of town for the few days I was staying.

A couple of minutes after Spectalkular had mentioned his most recent distraction, the 25 year old, texted him. After living in Sydney for about 7 years, this kid had moved into his alcoholic grandmother’s house. No car, no job. And apparently, not too impressive when it came to holding his liquor. They’d been seeing each other for about 6 weeks.

After stopping at the hardware store, Spectalkular took me to his house. It was a small 1-story 3-bedroom home on a beautiful piece of land with stunning views. He has since added a bathroom and turned the garage into a separated studio, where I would be sleeping. Spec introduced me to the painter, a tanned, fit, perpetually shirtless, British lad in his late 20s. Of course, he was straight.

We dropped off our stuff and headed to Brunswick Heads for lunch. Spectalkular’s boy arrived from the beach about 15 minutes after we did. He was rather tall, very slim, and good looking enough to make me feel neither overly cocky nor sorry for Spec. Spec had mentioned that he wasn’t going to mention to his boy that we had dated since he was so “protective.” I was ready for a show.

Spec: “Tom and Jerry should be joining us soon.”

The Boy (less than enthusiastic): “Oh… wonderful. I may just go back to the beach before they get here. Watch out, D. Kareem, ‘cause he’ll make you pull your cock out.”

Spec (laughing): “Oh, he’s only joking when he does that. The man’s harmless.”

The Boy: “He’s so over the top. He has a gold ring on, like, every finger…”

Spec: “Yeah, he does.”

The Boy: “Was he in a bad mood the other day? He seemed rather… annoyed.”

Spec: “Well, he gets up at 4:30 every morning, so he may well have been out of sorts."

Spectalkular had told me about Tom and Jerry on the way from the airport. Tom was a well-known business owner who had been married for about 40 years to a woman. They were still married. Jerry was his live-in partner of 25 years. Talk about having your cake and eating it too (duh, just buy two cakes)! Tom was Spec’s main comforter and confidant after I left, so he was well informed on our history. Spec warned me that Tom had a very sexual and aggressive sense of humor, so I was eager to see how our meeting would play out.

The couple arrived with a bottle of wine from the bar, and we all greeted each other.

Tom: “What a beautiful piece of man you’ve got here! He must be hung like a horse!”

Spec: “Excuse me, boys. I need to go for a wee.”

Tom: “Are you asking [your boy] for permission? Or does one of us need to come and hold it for you?”

Though everyone was laughing, the tension between Spec’s boy and his friends was almost palpable. Both Tom and Jerry were quick-witted and hilarious, and Spec’s boy was… well, he was the kind of guy you’d expect to meet on The Scene in any big city. After about 15 minutes, he excused himself to the beach.

Tom (laughing): “You just couldn’t wait to get away, huh!”

The Boy (laughing): “Yeah, well…”

Soon after Spec’s boy had left, it came out that he’d conducted himself in a less-than-comely manner at a gathering at Tom and Jerry’s a few days prior. Apparently, Tom had let Spec’s boy try on a watch that Jerry had gotten Tom in Rome as a present. And he never gave the watch back. Furthermore, he was flashing the watch at a party the next day, stating that it was a gift.

Tom: “Now, D. Kareem, if you came to my house and asked for a watch, I’d give it to you. Gladly for a sexy bloke like you. But he didn’t even ask! He just pinched it! Unbelievable. If I was you, I wouldn’t leave anything valuable lying around while he’s around. Now if you’ll excuse me… I was going to say ,‘I need to go siphon the python.’ But compared to you, it’s more like a garden snake! Not that it’s getting as much use as yours with all the sex you’re having, Spec.”

Spec: “Me?! Not even. We haven’t shagged in two weeks.”

Me: “Wait, 2 weeks. And he’s 25?! Something ain’t right.”

Tom (upon his return): “Sorry I took so long. It got all wet when the tip landed in the water.”

Jerry: “Well, maybe you should stop lying down in the trough when you go…”

After another drink, Spec decided that he really wanted to go for a swim. The beach, though beautiful, was rather empty. I think Spec sensed that I wasn’t up for an aquatic adventure, so he suggested that I stay with Tom and Jerry, promising that he’d be back in a half hour. Tom promptly ordered another bottle of wine.

Jerry: “You know, he’s gone after that boy. He’ll be longer than a half hour.”

Tom (topping off my glass): “Good thing you have us to look after you. Now let’s see that cock of yours! How big is it? 14?!”

Me: “That’s not up for discussion. But when you tell this story later, go ahead and say 14” if you want.”

Jerry: “We’re really worried about Spec, though. You should have seen how that boy was acting at our friend’s house! He was drunk out of his mind! So now the friend won’t allow the kid back at his house, and I don’t blame him.”

Tom: “The kid’s a gold digger, but Spec doesn’t see it. And we can’t seem to convince him.”

Me: “It’s funny, when he was describing him in the car, I was thinking, Why are you even with this guy. And I definitely got a weird vibe from him when he was here. Spec asked me to tell him what I thought of him, and I think it’ll echo what you guys have said.”

Jerry: “All of our friends have said it, but it won’t sink in.”

Me: “I think he has his doubts. If everyone’s saying it, he'll eventually get it. Who knows, maybe my contribution as an outsider will be what brings him around.”

Jerry: “I certainly hope so.”

When Spec got back, we bade his friends farewell (hopefully they got a cab) and headed back to his place. We had about an hour before we needed to leave to pick up Spec’s boy and get to the restaurant before they stopped serving at 8:30. Being in a small town, there weren’t too many options on a Tuesday night. I’d meant to take a nap, but when I found out Spec’s place had wireless, I immediately signed onto every website I had a profile on, changing a majority of them to a Melbourne location.

At the Italian restaurant, I had the best spaghetti I’d ever had in my life, though I can’t remember what was in it. It was so good that I momentarily tuned out of the conversation.

The Boy: “Well, I’m not giving it back until he asks me for it. It was a gift, and now he wants it back?!”

Spec: “Well, I don’t think he never thought of it as a gift.”

Me: “Definitely.”

The 3 of us went back to Spec’s house and sat outside, drenching ourselves in mosquito repellant since the “mozzies” were in full force. The sexy painter joined us in our quest to empty the fridge of all beer and wine. Did I mention I’d passed out by 1am? Yeah.

Click here to check out my last night in Sydney.

Click here to ask me a question on FormSpring.me (they're anonymous) and to see my answers.

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I don't even put up with shit like this below 96th St (Toybox '10 and my last night in Sydney)

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.

Sober Moment 4.9.10: Fun with Grindr Convos (The Down Under Edition)

The attention I was getting on Grindr in Oz let me have a lot more fun with convos than I do in the US. At at times, I was downright bitchy (but they deserved it!) I’m just going to let the screenshots speak for themselves.

And there's more where that came from. For the record, I was only Grindring for snippets of time when I had wifi (mostly at restaurants). Data roaming is not a good look.

Click here to check out more Fun with Grinder (The Down Under Edition).

Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Party '10 (Sydney, Australia, Day 3, Part 2)

After the beach with the 2 Aussies, I took a disco nap and woke up around 9-something. I had considered doing some kind of outrageous outfit for that night at the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Party '10. Then I remembered being a black man in Sydney was outrageous in and of itself. Thus, I decided my outfit would be shirtless.

I stopped in at Saddle Bar on the way. For some reason, I felt really self-conscious. Probably because it felt a little more like what's-she-doing-here stares or someone-should-tell-her-about-the-toilet-paper-stuck-to-her-shoe stares than the usual let's-ogle-the-exotic-man stares. A creepy guy would smile at me every time he walked by. Then he started saying stuff as he walked by, which was fine because he kept walking. But one time he stopped. We started talking, which was uncomfortable enough as it was. Then came the ultimate convo killer:

“So… are you looking for, uh, some extra money or anything?”

Apparently what everyone was staring at was the “HUSTLER” tattoo I had on my forehead.

I felt much better once I struck up a convo with a white guy dressed like a Viking. He was buying drinks for a pair of femme Figian guys who were a riot. I danced with them for a bit before heading to the party.

The walk over brought back all kinds of memories because it was the same way I'd walk home from my days at the Uni and my nights on Oxford St. I literally passed my old house on the corner of South Dowling and Flinders. It really did feel like a pilgrimage. Many of us skipped the cab fare for the mile walk from Oxford St, and a line trickling line of gays in outrageous costumes and outfits ambled up Flinders St and across Moore Park.

On the way in, I noticed two tall, slim RGs.

Me: "Honey, you're really gonna do this party in those heels? I mean, they're fierce, but really?"

Heels: "You know, I have some flats in the car, but I wasn't sure if I should wear them."

Me: "Well, there's all kinds of signs that say no re-entry, so if you do it, you're stuck. Maybe you should put them in your bag..."

Turns out Heels' boyfriend was a photographer for the party. Flats (because I don't remember what kind of shoes she was wearing, but the zebra pants were hot) was there for the first time, but she said her mother had been to 10 of these parties. "I'm not allowed to go to Sleaze [the party I went to when I was in Sydney in '03] because that's her thing."

Flats was really excited about David Guetta. I still don't get why he "performs" live, but I figured it couldn't take too long. It seemed to be in progress when we walked in, but there wasn't much to see. We found a spot along the wall where there weren't many people. Thankfully, he led off with "When Love Takes Over."

I almost choked on my Dentine Ice, Arctic Chill gum: Kelly Rowland came out on stage. I literally started screaming and jumping up and down. I had no idea she was appearing, and it really caught me off guard.

After all that excitement, we all need some fresh air. We met up with Heels' boyfriend photographer and his photog friend outside by the Red Bull tent. He snapped some pictures of us, and I gave him and his friend my card.

Boyfriend: "Wow, this is a hot picture!"

Me: "Thanks. I've since become a fan of good lighting!"

Boyfriend's friend (tucking card into the waistband of his undies): "Oh, yeah! This is going right here!"

Boyfriend: "Me too!"

Me: "Wow. Now I can say I went to Mardi Gras and got into 2 straight guys' pants in one evening. Sweet!"

Outside, I ran into The Aussie and his hot friend and with few straight couples. The 3 of us (and a few of the straights) migrated to The Dome for deep house and to check out the leather scene. His friend wandered off, and I ended up making out with The Aussie. After the friend found us again, I may or may not have offered for both of them to "crash [naked]" in the CBD instead of trekking back to Bondi where they were staying.

After the Dome shut down for the night, and everyone migrated to the main dance hall, but we opted for the courtyard outside. We spend another 2 hours outside (in the morning light) people watching with the two fabulous Fijians I had met earlier. At one point, a trans-woman walked by. You could tell she'd had a lot of work done.

Fijian: "I wonder if she's had ribs taken out."

Other Fijian: "And put in her cheeks?!"

I managed to convince both guys to grab breakfast on Oxford St, literally steps from my hotel. The hot friend ended up going back to their place in Bondi.

Did I mention that I’d finally managed get a (super-hot) Aussie back to my hotel? Yeah!

Click here to check out my day at the beach with the two Aussies (and what they got me to do in public).

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