You're Not One of Those Indecisive Fags...

...but when you get to the Fresh Market in Fire Guyland with the dire need to caffeinate, you are annoyed to have nothing to choose from but Coke products. You stare at the refrigerated bottles for so long that someone actually asks you if you're okay. No, of course you're not okay! There is no Diet Pepsi on this whole damned island which is your new home for an entire week! You usually vote yourself off of Temptation Island after a measly three-day weekend, but since you and your Lovely Lady Mumps are between apartments (a.k.a. homeless) you are stuck on the Isle of Guy for a full week. Thank the gay gods for your share house. And thank the gland gods that your Lovely Lady Mumps seem to be getting a little bit better. Anyway.

You finally decide on Coke Zero, which turns out to be infinitely better than Diet Coke and as you are paying you start scanning the extensive crowd on the dock which has gathered to watch the Invasion. Every year since the Dawn of Gay Man, the Cherry Grove Drag Queens descend upon The Pines in droves and paint the town red with way too much lipstick and blush. There's some sort of beachy, Stonewall-ish historical significance, but you've long since forgotten. Hell you've forgotten last night already. Until, of course you are reminded of last night when you see him standing amongst the crowd wearing nothing but a skimpy little Speedo. True to his word, the day-tripping Baby Daddy has come back for another gay day. Actually, today is the gayest day. Anywhere. Baby Daddy doesn't notice you through the store's window, and you briefly consider knocking on the glass to say hi, but your run-in with him last night was so odd that you decide to just let it go. If he's really as interested as he said he was, then he's got your number. And if you're really as uninterested as you think you are, then you've got voicemail.

It's hot and muggy and there's absolutely no breeze so you wind up watching only a smidgen of the festivities before you, Half-Share and Fat Albert decide to rehydrate with something more refreshing than some second-rate, poor excuse for a Diet Pepsi. You all head into the Pavilion and your boys need to hit the bathroom before the bar, but you wait outside since your Coke Zero hasn't made it's way south to your bladder yet. You futz with your phone until Half-Share comes out and informs you that you must take a peek at the show going on inside the Men's Room. You, of course, don't need to be coaxed more than once so you pop your head in and indeed there are two boys pressed up against the urinal, making out as if it's not actually one o'clock in the afternoon with plenty of other much cleaner places to get it on. That's about when their zippers get yanked down and the circle jerk, party of two, begins.

Later on, you end up losing your friends so you decide to wait for them at the bottom of the steps which lead up to Slip N' Hurl, which ends up being a great spot because it's the final destination for all of the fabulous D.Q.'s so they all end up sashaying past you along the runway as if you're Michael Kors (but luckily not as Gay Fat). Unfortunately all the Straight Looky-Loos who came out for the day have found the same primo real estate as you have, and they're all a bit drunk and obnoxious. It kind of feels like you're at some bizarre gay Hooters, until one Bad Breeder grabs a hold of Marilyn's famous white dress in an unwelcome attempt to blow it up as if she were standing on some explosive sewer grate. Needless to say, Marilyn is pissed and instantly turns into the Seven Year Bitch and goes postal on the The Misfits, because it's more than obvious that Something's Got To Give.

As usual, cocktails flow all afternoon until it's time for The Dance on the Bay which is a fundraiser for the Gay & Lesbian & Bisexual & Transgendered & Eunuch & Asexual Community Center. You watch the sun begin to set as the cocktails really flow (mostly because they're free) and that's when your inner-Elaine starts to, um, dance on the bay, until eventually, yadda, yadda, yadda, the next thing you know it's 1am and you're surprised to find yourself back at Slip N' Hurl. You cross your fingers hoping that one of your missing Yaddas included dinner as you stumble into the busy boy bar.

Almost instantly you meet an Aussie Bum who just turned 29 today, and, get this, feels old. You roll your eyes and inform him that, "Well, here's the good news. You're still too young for this ride," as you gesture toward yourself. It's actually a bit hazy (surprise, surprise), but somehow the conversation quickly turns and suddenly you feel like you're on a date with a 38 year old woman who's eggs are reaching the end of their shelf life. Just like Baby Daddy from last night, Aussie Bum starts talking about the future. Or more specifically, your future together! Like when he gets back from his business trip, blah-blah-blah. Or when you meet his family in Australia, blah-blah-blah. The whole conversation becomes even more surreal when he actually says aloud, "Since today's my birthday I deserve to have you go home with me." Did you skim over the part of the script where you agreed to jump out of a cake? Well, actually, you are about to jump. Right down the stairs. So you tell Aussie Bum, politely, that since you are turning into a pumpkin that it's time for you to go home. Unfortunately, that's when Aussie Bum insists on walking you back. You're too exhausted to decline so you just give in reluctantly.

When you finally get back to the Kinsey 8 house on Beach Hill Walk, you try to say goodnight politely, but Aussie Bum insists on a kiss. Although you're not feeling it, you're not feeling like dragging out the uncomfortable moment either, so you give into his birthday wish, yet quickly wish you hadn't. It's one of those Jackhammer Kisses which instantly makes you feel like a Jackass for agreeing to the whole preposterous situation. You're too old to be bulldozed by a 29 year old, but when Aussie Bum asks you if you'll come to his birthday party tomorrow you find yourself reluctantly saying, "What time?" Aussie Bum stutters until finally he says, "What time do you want to come?" And since you don't want to come at all you end up answering with a snarky, "When the party starts." The whole thing is so weird that you begin to wonder if there is even going to be an actual party, but you say, "Just tell me when to come," because you are cranky and tired. The indecisive Aussie Bum tells you to come at 2pm and you say goodnight. But not before he Jackhammers your one last time. Anyway...