So now The Boyf's put his back out again. There always seems to be something wrong at the moment. We're a sickly pair this year, and it's paying havoc with our social lives.
We stayed home on Friday and Saturday evening, which is fine with me, although I do get a little stir-crazy on Saturday if I know we're not going anywhere.
Sunday was London Marathon day of course, and the runners come past the end of our road, meaning it's blocked off for 8 hours. Last year we escaped to Brighton for the day but this year, with The Boyf not feeling great, we decided to stay home and watch the runners. On the TV. Yup, we didn't even bother to walk 50 yards down the road, preferring to simply go "Oh look, there's our house" at the TV. Lazy, lazy OMO.
By the time the road had reopened we were both a bit fed up with being at home so put on our glad-rags and headed to the RVT, with the intention of meeting The Drag Queen for a dance. (Well, I intended to dance, The Boyf was just going to prop himself against the bar). How unlikely was it that just as we arrived The Drag Queen phoned to say that some man she'd met in The Shadow Lounge (!) a couple of weeks ago and phoned her to say he felt horny and did she fancy a shag? She couldn't remember what he looked like but had said yes anyway. Classy. She vowed to come to the RVT after satisfying herself but we correctly decided not to hold our breath - she never did turn up.
The RVT seemed a little quieter than usual. Apparently all of the members of my little fan-club have gone on holiday at the same time, leaving me resolutely unsullied for the entire evening. Not one person groped me! Very upsetting. In fact, lots of the regulars weren't there, which seemed odd. So I had a little dance pretty much on my own, with The Boyf watching from the sidelines, and then he decided he needed to get home and rest his back so we headed off at a very early hour. An odd evening.
Incredibly, this weekend we are attending our first gay wedding, so that should be fun, especially considering we've slept with both of the grooms on separate occasions without the other knowing. In our defence I would like to add that we didn't know they were a couple; we met them on their own on consecutive weeks. On the third week we bumped into them together in a club and they introduced themselves as a couple (who'd only been together for a few weeks). There was an awkward moment where we weren't sure what to say and where they tried to establish how everyone already knew each other ("Oh, we just got chatting in a bar"), and then everything seemed to resolve itself. So, anyway, we're going to their wedding and then no doubt that will lead to clubbing or whatever. It'll be fun anyway. I just don't know what to wear. I know I'm going to either be hideously over or under dressed, but I'm thinking over would be preferable, wouldn't you agree?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
More Delayed Reaction
Arriving at JFK I'd arranged for us to be picked up by a friend (another lovely surprise for The Boyf), and because I was so ill he whisked us back to his home in Westchester rather than us heading to the hotel I'd booked. Once there he and his partner cooked us a wonderful meal and generally pampered us, and then at some point very early on I was told to go to bed and rest whilst The Boyf stayed up to into the wee hours talking and drinking.
On Saturday morning our friends drove us back into NY and to our hotel, and then we decided to try to go for a little walk. It was as much as I could manage just to stand up, but dragged sorry ass along regardless. Neither of us had been up the Empire State Building, and it's one of those things that tourists have to do, by pain of death. Mind you, I've been to San Francisco twice now and still haven't been to Alcatraz. Anyway, we bought queue-jump tickets and headed up, and I have to say that it was well worth it. The weather was lovely, although it was rather windy up the top (as I assume it always is pretty much), and it helped to blow the cobwebs out of my head, albeit only for 10 minutes. After that I managed to stumble up to Times Square and then on to Central Park, where we had a nice rest in the sunshine. After that I needed a rest and wanted to head back to the hotel for a sleep in preparation for the Black Party, which I really wasn’t looking forward to.
On the way back to the hotel we passed the Abercrombie & Fitch shop, and being uncontrollably gay we were drawn inside. What hilarity! We've not long had Abercrombie & Fitch in the UK and The Boyf and I have never ventured in. The NY shop was dark - the house music was doing the old thumpa-thumpa at a ridiculous volume, and the assistants were dancing. For a little while I actually forgot how ill I felt as the rhythm caught me and dragged me around the shop, giggling. I phoned The Drag Queen back in Blighty.
"Where on Earth are you? Are you in a club already?"
"No, we're in Abercrombie & Fitch and I think some drugs I took a while back are coming back up"
"Huh? I can't really hear you. What club did you say it was?"
(Shouting) "Abercrombie & Fitch"
"They've opened a club now?"
(Shouting) "Apparently. And they're trying to flog clothes while you dance"
"I'm gonna go - I can't hear you over the top of that wailing diva"
That really did sap the last of my strength so we went back to the hotel and I had a fitful 4 hour sleep before lumbering out of bed and getting ready for big night out.
We arrived at the Black Party at an unseasonal 10.30pm, thinking that we wanted to scope the Roseland Ballroom out, having never been there before. Plus The Boyf likes to watch people arrive and see the night build. The cloakroom was a paragon of efficiency, I have to say. Way better than the clubs in England, but then we don't really have any dance parties of that size, although of course we have so much choice every weekend which NY doesn’t have any more.
So, what do you want to know about the Black Party? Well, the men were gorgeous! It was so nice to go out and see fresh faces (to us at least), and some of them were stunning. I utterly fell in love with a Middle-Eastern gentleman and couldn't take my eyes off him. Elsewhere some sexy guy was being spray-painted on a pool table (not sure why), and upstairs someone was being hung by hooks through his back. Not the kind of thing I like to see when out clubbing, but hey-ho. As for the music, I didn't actually hear any. There did seem to be incredibly loud construction work going on somewhere in the building though, and people were dancing to the rhythm of it. Well, shuffling from one foot to another anyway.
Everyone was giving me a wide berth, and when I caught sight of myself in a mirror I wasn't surprised. I really did look awful. Actually I looked like a junkie who'd just been on a month-long bender of alcohol and drugs. Little did they know that the only drug in my system was Tylenol.
We bumped into a group of guys we knew from London and ended up dancing with them. I mean, you don't go somewhere foreign to mix with the locals! I jest of course, it was just that I couldn't hear myself think over the metallic banging noise (with the odd diva-scream vocal, or some guy repeating "I wanna fuck you") which seemed to be in perfect time to be throbbing headache. I did manage a few words with a very sexy guy from Chicago, but then his boyfriend gave me a fearful look and dragged him away. No doubt he'd seen the Infected in "I Am Legend" and recognised my look.
Early on I'd noticed a medical tent upstairs, and by 6am was having trouble standing so thought I'd pop up and maybe have a sit on a bed for a bit. When I got there the place was packed. "Christ", I thought, "lots of people aren't feeling well". I pushed my way inside and that's when I realised the examinations being performed were of a completely non-medical kind. I'd wandered into an orgy. Needless to say I really wasn't in the mood, and it made up my mind that I should call it a day, leaving The Boyf to enjoy the revelry.
Our Sunday was largely spent in bed. The Boyf had over-done it at the Black Party and felt awful. I just felt dreadful, so we stayed in the hotel for most of the day, only venturing out for food and some fresh air, before returning and sleeping until Monday when we had to get up for an early flight.
And that was our Black Party. For me a total loss, but at least The Boyf enjoyed himself (the tales he's told me since would make a whore blush).
Oh well, there's always next year...
On Saturday morning our friends drove us back into NY and to our hotel, and then we decided to try to go for a little walk. It was as much as I could manage just to stand up, but dragged sorry ass along regardless. Neither of us had been up the Empire State Building, and it's one of those things that tourists have to do, by pain of death. Mind you, I've been to San Francisco twice now and still haven't been to Alcatraz. Anyway, we bought queue-jump tickets and headed up, and I have to say that it was well worth it. The weather was lovely, although it was rather windy up the top (as I assume it always is pretty much), and it helped to blow the cobwebs out of my head, albeit only for 10 minutes. After that I managed to stumble up to Times Square and then on to Central Park, where we had a nice rest in the sunshine. After that I needed a rest and wanted to head back to the hotel for a sleep in preparation for the Black Party, which I really wasn’t looking forward to.
On the way back to the hotel we passed the Abercrombie & Fitch shop, and being uncontrollably gay we were drawn inside. What hilarity! We've not long had Abercrombie & Fitch in the UK and The Boyf and I have never ventured in. The NY shop was dark - the house music was doing the old thumpa-thumpa at a ridiculous volume, and the assistants were dancing. For a little while I actually forgot how ill I felt as the rhythm caught me and dragged me around the shop, giggling. I phoned The Drag Queen back in Blighty.
"Where on Earth are you? Are you in a club already?"
"No, we're in Abercrombie & Fitch and I think some drugs I took a while back are coming back up"
"Huh? I can't really hear you. What club did you say it was?"
(Shouting) "Abercrombie & Fitch"
"They've opened a club now?"
(Shouting) "Apparently. And they're trying to flog clothes while you dance"
"I'm gonna go - I can't hear you over the top of that wailing diva"
That really did sap the last of my strength so we went back to the hotel and I had a fitful 4 hour sleep before lumbering out of bed and getting ready for big night out.
We arrived at the Black Party at an unseasonal 10.30pm, thinking that we wanted to scope the Roseland Ballroom out, having never been there before. Plus The Boyf likes to watch people arrive and see the night build. The cloakroom was a paragon of efficiency, I have to say. Way better than the clubs in England, but then we don't really have any dance parties of that size, although of course we have so much choice every weekend which NY doesn’t have any more.
So, what do you want to know about the Black Party? Well, the men were gorgeous! It was so nice to go out and see fresh faces (to us at least), and some of them were stunning. I utterly fell in love with a Middle-Eastern gentleman and couldn't take my eyes off him. Elsewhere some sexy guy was being spray-painted on a pool table (not sure why), and upstairs someone was being hung by hooks through his back. Not the kind of thing I like to see when out clubbing, but hey-ho. As for the music, I didn't actually hear any. There did seem to be incredibly loud construction work going on somewhere in the building though, and people were dancing to the rhythm of it. Well, shuffling from one foot to another anyway.
Everyone was giving me a wide berth, and when I caught sight of myself in a mirror I wasn't surprised. I really did look awful. Actually I looked like a junkie who'd just been on a month-long bender of alcohol and drugs. Little did they know that the only drug in my system was Tylenol.
We bumped into a group of guys we knew from London and ended up dancing with them. I mean, you don't go somewhere foreign to mix with the locals! I jest of course, it was just that I couldn't hear myself think over the metallic banging noise (with the odd diva-scream vocal, or some guy repeating "I wanna fuck you") which seemed to be in perfect time to be throbbing headache. I did manage a few words with a very sexy guy from Chicago, but then his boyfriend gave me a fearful look and dragged him away. No doubt he'd seen the Infected in "I Am Legend" and recognised my look.
Early on I'd noticed a medical tent upstairs, and by 6am was having trouble standing so thought I'd pop up and maybe have a sit on a bed for a bit. When I got there the place was packed. "Christ", I thought, "lots of people aren't feeling well". I pushed my way inside and that's when I realised the examinations being performed were of a completely non-medical kind. I'd wandered into an orgy. Needless to say I really wasn't in the mood, and it made up my mind that I should call it a day, leaving The Boyf to enjoy the revelry.
Our Sunday was largely spent in bed. The Boyf had over-done it at the Black Party and felt awful. I just felt dreadful, so we stayed in the hotel for most of the day, only venturing out for food and some fresh air, before returning and sleeping until Monday when we had to get up for an early flight.
And that was our Black Party. For me a total loss, but at least The Boyf enjoyed himself (the tales he's told me since would make a whore blush).
Oh well, there's always next year...
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Delayed Reaction
Ok, I know I'm lazy but this time I have an excuse; I've been ill. Admittedly not since before Easter, which is when I last wrote anything, but still...
Easter was a lot of fun, for the most part. We did Tonka on the Friday, which is always a bit of a riot, and then we chanced going to Area for Juicy on Saturday night. We weren't expecting to enjoy ourselves but actually had a great night. The music was pretty good, and the crowd was very sexy indeed. I had the right horn I can tell you. Did me no good whatsoever though. Bummer.
Sunday was Fusion at XXL with the Freemasons DJing. The Boyf wasn't impressed; "I don't see why we want to go and see a couple of 50 year olds playing other people's records and getting applause for it". The Superstar DJ thing passes him by, and I do understand his point. Lots of people obviously disagreed however; XXL was absolutely rammed and it tipped over from being manic but fun into being very uncomfortable. There didn't seem to be any more bar staff than usual and the queues for a drink were a nightmare. And then a friend of ours collapsed. Luckily medics were on the scene really quickly, and good job they were as they actually had to resusitate him at one point. He was carted off to hospital and was fine the next day. Us not so much. Seeing a friend come close to death had hit us hard and we're not in a good mood with him at the moment, although we're obviously pleased that he's ok. It's caused a little rift amoung our friends i.e. between those that do that particular drug and those of us who don't. The takers are sticking together - it's obviously too close to home and is raising questions they'd rather not think about. Anyway, it's a storm in a tea-cup, but there are certainly going to be words said if anything happens in future. We simply don't want to see our friends putting themselves in danger.
And that's when I got ill. I came down with the flu on the Thursday, just in time for our trip to New York on Friday. I felt fucking dreadful, I can tell you. It was a surprise trip for The Boyf's birthday and I woke him up early on Friday morning to tell him he wasn't going to work cause we were off somewhere. All I wanted to do was stay in bed. Anyway, we jumped on the tube and started our journey out to Heathrow, with The Boyf suddenly realising that a flight was involved. Amazingly we managed to get through the check-in and into the departure lounge before he found out where we were going. And he was one pleased bunny. Even cried, bless him.
(to be continued...)
Easter was a lot of fun, for the most part. We did Tonka on the Friday, which is always a bit of a riot, and then we chanced going to Area for Juicy on Saturday night. We weren't expecting to enjoy ourselves but actually had a great night. The music was pretty good, and the crowd was very sexy indeed. I had the right horn I can tell you. Did me no good whatsoever though. Bummer.
Sunday was Fusion at XXL with the Freemasons DJing. The Boyf wasn't impressed; "I don't see why we want to go and see a couple of 50 year olds playing other people's records and getting applause for it". The Superstar DJ thing passes him by, and I do understand his point. Lots of people obviously disagreed however; XXL was absolutely rammed and it tipped over from being manic but fun into being very uncomfortable. There didn't seem to be any more bar staff than usual and the queues for a drink were a nightmare. And then a friend of ours collapsed. Luckily medics were on the scene really quickly, and good job they were as they actually had to resusitate him at one point. He was carted off to hospital and was fine the next day. Us not so much. Seeing a friend come close to death had hit us hard and we're not in a good mood with him at the moment, although we're obviously pleased that he's ok. It's caused a little rift amoung our friends i.e. between those that do that particular drug and those of us who don't. The takers are sticking together - it's obviously too close to home and is raising questions they'd rather not think about. Anyway, it's a storm in a tea-cup, but there are certainly going to be words said if anything happens in future. We simply don't want to see our friends putting themselves in danger.
And that's when I got ill. I came down with the flu on the Thursday, just in time for our trip to New York on Friday. I felt fucking dreadful, I can tell you. It was a surprise trip for The Boyf's birthday and I woke him up early on Friday morning to tell him he wasn't going to work cause we were off somewhere. All I wanted to do was stay in bed. Anyway, we jumped on the tube and started our journey out to Heathrow, with The Boyf suddenly realising that a flight was involved. Amazingly we managed to get through the check-in and into the departure lounge before he found out where we were going. And he was one pleased bunny. Even cried, bless him.
(to be continued...)
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