Michoken (grumpily): “Good morning, sunshine. Guess who came by this morning?”
Michoken: “Head of security for the golf course. That prick from yesterday when we were on the carts must have complained. But security knows me: I give those guys cards with money around the holidays. So he just told me to keep the dog off the golf course. I told him the dog doesn’t go on the golf course. Fuckin’ prick.”
Michoken, whose road rage isn’t unlike the father’s fury from A Christmas Story while working on the furnace, drove us into Palm Springs to drop off our bags at our hotel and then toted us to the Viceroy (spa day!) before bidding us farewell. Bohoken had booked massages for us and was sweet enough to give me the only available male massage therapist. We had a good half hour by the pool (where we ordered the best minty citrus drink) before our appointments.
My massage therapist was a cute, warm Latin guy who was soft-spoken but directed me well and made me feel comfortable. I almost wanted to scream when he was working on the knots in my upper back. And as he massaged the front of my body, I had to recite every minor scale I knew in every different key (did I mention I never memorized scale notes so I still have to count out the intervals) to keep my, er… to keep the towel in place.
After the massage, the pre-pool-party workout I’d planned didn’t seem like such a great idea, so we jumped in the Viceroy’s hot tub before checking into our hotel room. The pool party ran from noon to 6, and it was about 3 when we left the Viceroy. I was determined to get our costumes pressed and steamed before the party the next night, so for efficiency’s sake, I asked Bohoken to go to the host hotel (which was sold out by the time we booked) to register and pick up our passes while I dropped the costumes off at a dry cleaner. He was vehemently opposed to doing this alone (which I didn’t understand at first, but I figured circuit parties and the queens who inhabit them are quite unfamiliar territory to him), so we walked to the dry cleaner together.
You know you’re in a podunk town when 2 dry cleaners tell you that they don’t even steam or press garments over the weekend.
I hung our garments in the shower, and we made our way to the Renaissance Hotel. It was actually quite spectacular from the outside, and the lobby’s runway with changing neon lighting in the floor was so appropriate for a gay weekend! As we searched for where to pick up our passes, I noticed a booth that said “Drink Tickets” and immediately changed our course.
So, the way it worked was that each ticket costs and represents $1. Drinks all cost about $9, but tips were expected in cash (??). And tickets only came in $1 denominations. So if you wanted to be efficient and buy $100 worth of drink tickets, you were stuck with 100 of these little tickets. A color-coded system would have been much appreciated.
It wasn’t long before we were taking a stripped-down tour of the pool deck. I ran into Prince of Persia who was apparently friends with Jeffrey Sanker, head gamemaker of the White Party. They’d become friends on vacation in Puerto Vallarta, so of course, he was there for free and meeting the headlining performer, Mary J. Blige, and all that shit. It’s rare that I'm jealous enough to wish a bad tanline on anyone, but then I noticed that one of the boys in his entourage was actually wearing his VIP pass around his neck. His being associated with that level of douchebaggery sufficed.
Random Twunk: “Excuse me. Are you guys a couple?”
Me: “Why yes. It turns out we are.”
RT: “Oh, wow! That’s so awesome!”
Me: “I certainly think it is.”
RT: “I just saw you while I was talking with my friends, and I had to ask. It’s really great to see you guys together!”
Bohoken (after the Random Twunk was a safe distance away): “So not dating your identical twin is a remarkable thing here.”
While we had a good time at the pool party, there was quite a bit of fumbling around to count out drink tickets. Luckily, we went through them quickly because we had to order doubles to get any kind of buzz. The large pool deck was far from crowded on Friday, so I wouldn’t recommend opening with your best swimwear for that particular party. But overall, it was a good time.
Did I mention there was an underwear party that night? Yeah.