You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Good With Names...

...but you never forget a face. Well, perhaps you should qualify that statement. You never forget a face that you meet when you're sober. Unfortunately, when you do meet new people, nine times out of ten you've got a cocktail in your hand. But don't judge! You're a very social boy! For some miraculous reason you feel great when you wake up Saturday morning on Fire Island. Even though you had a terrible night of rejection, today you can't seem to even remember the Massssculine Man's first name. Anyway. The rest of your Kinsey 8 housemates are already awake (surprise, surprise), and you immediately head to the barren fridge to scrounge around, unsuccessfully, for something non-cocktail related. That's when your friend Half-Share saunters in with his housemates (whose names you can never seem to remember), and before you know it, one of the mixed-up Marys in your house is busy mixing up Bloody Marys, because really, wouldn't it be impolite not to offer your unexpected 11:00am guests a cocktail? Of course, the Gentlemen Callers are parched and the mid-morning vodka flows freely as you give them a quick tour of the Kinsey 8's lovely abode.

It's a beautiful day so everybody ends up out by the pool as all the other surrounding homes begin to groggily come back to life. You're a bit surprised when Fergie's "Glamorous" begins to blare from a neighbor's ailing stereo, almost as if your neighbors are alerting The Pines about some Gay Disco Air Raid. You are in shock, however, when you notice a (and you use this term lightly) boy across the way prancing across his deck while he plays Runway. He's wearing nothing but a pair of white stiletto pumps coupled with a itsy-bitsy white Brazilian-cut Speedo. The whole look is accessorized with a giant pair of white Jackie O' plastic sunglasses. You immediately point this rare Fire Island specimen out to your friends, "What is that?" And without missing a beat, Half-Share says, "You mean the Sleestack?" And then he begins to hiss as if he's one of the Lizard-like creatures chasing Will and Holly from Land of the Lost.

Instead of feasting upon green olives, limes and tomato juice, you all decide to head into town to grab breakfast. Everybody promises to wait for you and your Bloody Mary to freshen up with a quick shower in the outdoor stall next to your pool. However, sometime after you put the shampoo in your hair, and sometime before you get a chance to wash it out and open your eyes, you start to hear your next door neighbors yelling frantically about how, "It's showtime!" Your curiosity is certainly piqued by the ensuing giggling, and you begin to feel like you're missing out on something rather exciting. That's when you open your eyes and realize the laughter is emanating from your neighbor's roof deck. You look up and count at least five neighbor boys peering down at you lasciviously from their porch perch, cackling at your, um, nakedness. You, of course, are mortified, but really, what can you possibly do? You attempt to ignore them, yet you end up taking the quickest shower possible while trying to convince yourself that it would probably be much worse if the neighbor boys weren't the least bit interested in seeing your "Shower Show."

Afterwards you quickly wrap yourself up in a towel and head back into the house. Only when you walk through the kitchen door you are shocked to find the Sleestack sashaying around your kitchen. He clacks his way over to you in his high heels and introduces himself with an apology for missing your "Show." Unfortunately he was too busy cooking breakfast for you and your housemates. You are actually at a loss for words, but that mostly has to do with the fact that you cannot look away from the Sleestack's eyebrows which have been plucked beyond recognition. You excuse yourself and sneak into the living room to ask Fat Albert and the rest of the Cosby Kids why exactly the Sleestack is cooking breakfast? But nobody seems to know. Apparently this is something that the Sleestack just does. And no one is more shocked than you by the delicious frittata that your new houseboy has whipped together from a kitchen that you assumed was barren. It's kind of like the Sleestack does the Jesus trick where he feeds an entire town of hungry disciples with just one fish and a cup of wine. Only you know this is just a silly theory because the Sleestack would probably have a Y chromosome if he were actually Jesus.

After a busy day of cocktailing by the pool, you all decide to go to some house party that ends up being so far away that you feel like you've actually hiked to Montauk. However you are rewarded for your long journey because every inch of the expansive house, indoors and out, is packed with boys, boys and more boys. When an impromptu wrestling match begins, you and your BFF quickly escape to an upstairs balcony and watch boy after boy get thrown into the pool. Each wet boy eventually emerges with a wet T-shirt and one or more battery operated iPaper Weights that used to be functioning iPods and iPhones. You love the dry deck of your protected patio, not to mention the birds-eye view of all the pretty Pines party boys. But that's when two entitled boys saunter out from the house and, like Christopher Columbus, seem to re-discover your new-found real estate. One of these boys is holding a camera and yapping to his friend about taking a photo. It's obvious that he wants you to move, mostly because he asks his fancy friend, "How are we going to get them to move?" as if you weren't actually there. The ridiculous boy is actually trying to wish you away, without ever asking you to move. This whole preposterous scenario continues for a moment or two more, before Entitled Boy waves you away with his camera and asks you and your BFF, "Could you move?" only its more of a direct order than a question. Your BFF just kind of stares at them in disbelief until Entitled Boy informs you, "We live here. And we need to take a photo." You and your BFF kind of simultaneously roll your eyes at their rude request, but you both eventually move out of the way as the Entitled Boys quickly barrel through. You, of course, decide that it's time to head over to Low Tea.

Low Tea is packed and everybody is complaining about how the cups have gotten ridiculously small, yet somehow the steep cocktail prices have remained the same. You and your BFF order a couple of Britneys and begin to wander through the thick crowd in order to size up the possibilities with a simple Fruit Loop. Somewhere along your Mary way, you end up running into the Entitled Boys and you can't seem to stop yourself from racing over to them and interrupting their deeply shallow conversation. You wave your hands in their faces, and say (with a big grin on your face), "Could you boys move? I need to take a photo."

Although a quick, playful flash of your dimples usually lets you get away with snarky comments like this, these Entitled Boys ain't buying it. In fact, they're actually pissed. You're kind of surprised, yet ultimately amused, as Entitled Boy starts reading you the riot act. But you're in shock when this virtual stranger looks directly at you and says venomously, "I've met you a bunch of times and you never remember..." and then Entitled Boy actually goes on to address you by your name! You just stare at his foreign face, looking for something vaguely familiar. Anything. Yet if he were in a police line-up, you'd swear on a court bible that you've never seen him before. But that's when something wonderful happens. Entitled Boy notices the confused look on your face and begins to second-guess his idiot-savant ability to recall your name. And that's when he starts to rattle off a bunch of names in an attempt to guess Yours, "Jason... Preston... Shane... Jesse... Mark..." This is when you move on to complete your Fruit Loop as the unmemorable Entitled Boy continues listing names. Anyway...