You're Not One of Those Fags Who Dwell in the Past...

...although your blog definitely does. However, you've been doing your very best to catch up to real time lately, but now you need to slow down for a bit so you don't gloss over some of the more ridiculous things that have recently happened. Like when you met Rice Queen and Rice Queen #2 at Star Lounge, for Josh Wood's Friday Night party at the Chelsea Hotel . Since lately you've been hemorrhaging money over ridiculous and frivolous things like furniture, your budget doesn't have much left over for the more important necessities, like booze and dates. So you guzzle down a bottle of Two Buck Chuck over a lovely, yet lonely dinner of left-overs before racing to Chelsea in order to compete heavily in the Bar Rush event during the coveted free vodka hour.

You, of course, are very competitive in this particular event and during the last few, precious minutes of the open bar, you make your way through the frenzy and decide to utilize the coveted, yet time-tested technique of double-fisting vodkas in order to ease you into the cool-down period. After that, however, everything gets a bit hazy. You remember having fun with your friends and the swarm of Gaysian boys who surround them like some impenetrable Gay Wall of China. You remember running into the Indian Guy that you may or may not have made out with on Fire Guyland, however you really have no idea if you may or may not have also made out with him at the Star Lounge.

The next thing you know, Blackout Barbie is waking up. At noon. And one thing's for damn sure, she ain't in Ken's bed. The "trick" is apparently on you, because you ain't Indian Guy's bed either. Your head is pounding as you inspect your surroundings as you attempt to piece together disparate memories of last night's events. Luckily the Naked Guy in your arms is actually even cuter than Indian Guy, and somehow it feels nice and comfortable holding him. You have a vague memory of sitting in some diner you can't remember while munching on a big-ass delicious burger with crispy fries across from the Naked Guy who's name you also cannot remember. You suddenly remember talking to him about his Berlin t-shirt, and about how he just returned from a trip there. But when Naked Guy starts yapping about that hysterical thing you allegedly said while you were ordering drinks in Barracuda, you find yourself laughing along cautiously, almost as if you're not hearing this humorous joke for the very first time. Meanwhile, when the hell did you go to Barracuda?

Even though you feel like shit, the two of you lie around in bed, making out and yapping about nothing for hours. This is mostly because you are terrified to get out of bed and face the day, but partly because you love feeling Naked Guy's naked body. It's beautiful. Yet much, much too young for you. Although you're super turned on, every time it gets a little bit hot and heavy, Naked Guy starts to talk. And talk. And talk. Mostly about himself. Which would actually be interesting if your heads (both above and below your shoulders) weren't pounding for different kinds of attention. Once your downstairs head realizes that there ain't no head gonna happen, you reluctantly get out of bed in order to take care of the head above your shoulders.

You're putting on your pants when Naked Guy points out a picture of his mother who is literally wearing a broach that says, "Jesus Loves You." That's when you notice the cross dangling around Naked Guy's neck and you immediately point to it while shaking your index finger all about while you ask in your best Karen Walker imitation, "What's up with that necklace thingie dangling around your neck, honey?" Naked Guy laughs and explains that he is rather religious and asks if you have a problem with it. You joke, "I have a bigger problem with jewelry on my men than I do with religion. And I haven't had any problems with religion ever since I gave up going to church for Lent."

Before you leave, Naked Jesus Guy gets up to write down his number on an envelope for you. Only before he writes it down, he decides to read the letter inside. It's from his best friend, and for some unknown reason, Naked Jesus Guy decides to recite it to you and your hangover. Although you're in too much pain to pay much attention, you are certainly struck by one sentence in particular that says, "I thank the Lord for bringing us together." All of this is just a bit too much for your hungover heathen ass to process, and suddenly, now that you are standing, you feel more than a bit woozy. You finger some toothpaste around your morning mouth before saying goodbye and escaping to the insanely bright, unbelievably unsympathetic, blinding afternoon sunlight.

It takes you a moment before you realize where you are. Let's face it, it really wouldn't surprise you if you were in Hackensack. But you're not. Although right about now you find yourself wishing that you had woken up in New Jersey, because you literally feel ill when you notice that you're smack in the middle of Blonde Beard's block. Looking over at his apartment building. Actually, you've been thinking about him a lot lately. Like a crazy amount. Like when you wake up alone in your bed (most) every morning. Like when you pass by one of the many restaurants you had some romantic meal in. Like so much that you've even been considering getting in touch with him lately. Just to see what the hell happened. Just to see if perhaps he's got regrets, too. After all, it's not like you fall in love everyday. But unfortunately, it's not like you've fallen out of love so quickly either. And here you are. In the West Village. Feeling like shit. Suddenly feeling pathetic and lonely as you begin your walk of shame over to the West 4th Street subway station. It's hot. And muggy. And extremely humid. And the weather is the least oppressive thing bombarding you while you stand on the same platform where your relationship with Blonde Beard ended. Will you ever get over him? And more importantly, why on earth are you more into him now than you have been for months? Why is the memory of Blonde Beard getting stronger instead of fading away? You are flooded with fond memories from the past that do nothing but make you want to cry while you wait for the F train. Anyway...