You're Not One of Those Fags Who Swallows His Problems With Copious Amounts of Food...

...but alcohol is a different story. So when Rice Queen #2 offers you a sip from a pint of his Knob Creek on the train to Fire Guyland, you graciously accept. You are really all fucked up over your recent Blonde Beard sighting and can't help running through your unexpected reunion with a fine-toothed beard trimmer. And you think you've narrowed down his adverse reaction into two distinct, yet very different scenarios. Your first theory is that the man hates you. As in detests. After all, he couldn't wait to get away from you, nor could he bear even the most minimal of conversations. This leaves you wondering whether Blonde Beard found out about your Blah-Blah-Blog? And if this is the case then you can't change that because you have no control over it. Although you'd feel terrible if he hates you, what's done is done and you're not going to change his mind about you.

On the other hand, Blonde Beard's bizarre reaction might quite simply be just that; bizarre. After all, he was freakishly awkward in social situations. You experienced that uncomfortable side of him first hand after dragging him to a party at your Gal Pal's. And if he was merely just so scared by the shadow of a past relationship, then his unpleasant reaction was all about him, not you. At least you tried to be nice. Fuck that! You were nice! You were actually happy to see him! Whatever. You're over it. Even though you're not. But you will be. And with that you take another healthy, warm gulp of Knob Creek.

It's pouring when the Fairy Ferry finally arrives, so you and the rest of the Kinsey 8 race to the house and, surprise-surprise, start making cocktails. You skip Low Tea because of the inclement weather, but definitely make it to High Tea. After that it's all a bit hazy, but you have vague memories of dinner that may have or may not have been followed by a strip show. Starring you. Regardless, you'll surely be able to trace back your drunken steps soon enough in the form of unfortunate Facebook tags.

The next day is nice enough for both you and your hangover to lie out on the beach. However, the big excitement of the day (perhaps the month? Make that the year!) happens at Low Tea. You wander in with your Kinsey 8 housemates and begin an immediate Fruit Loop when who do you spy with your little eye? None other than your Internet Crush! He's standing right there, ten feet from you, all alone, with a drink in his hand (of course)! Although you now share a writing gig with him and have been working together all summer, you've never actually met in the flesh. And for some unknown, alcohol-fueled reason, you decide to out yourself. So you just stand there. And stare. Kind of similar to when you guilted Blonde Beard into grunting a few lame words at you on the sidewalk earlier this week. But unlike Blonde Beard, your Internet Crush does not try to skulk away when he catches his stalker's eye. It takes him a minute, but eventually he puts it together and the two of you giggle like a gaggle of girls.

You have a lot of fun talking in person and when you notice that both of your drinks are empty you offer to go get refills. It doesn't take much arm-twisting, and, of course, Ms. Four Letter Word wants a Thirteen Letter Drink, which happens to be the most expensive drink on the Island. But you are more than happy to aid and abet his drunk and disorderliness with a Planters Punch. However the bar line is endless and it takes you a while before you return with the cocktails. Only your Internet Crush is nowhere to be found. Somehow, even though you are double-fisted, you are able to text him without spilling a drop and the two of you ping back and forth trying to find each other, until, eventually, you just give up and finish both cocktails. Which, of course, is a big mistake.

Both High Tea and dinner are both blurs, as is Slip N' Hurl. But apparently the night ends up with you psychoanalyzing your friend Half-Share during a lovely midnight stroll into the Meatrack. You're starving so you make a pit-stop at Half-Share's house and pick up a delicious family sized bag of Tostitos - Hint O' Lime. You're ravenous and can't bear to part with the tasty tortillas, so you end up dragging the bag into the Meatrack with you. You munch your way through the moonlit woods as you pass by men munching on 'mo mussy. You are as fascinated as you are hungry, and the two of your meander down dark paths, passing half-naked men who appear out of nowhere and then slither by. It's so dark that you can't make out any faces, but even though you're as drunk as a skunk, even though your beer goggles are on tight, nobody looks all that pretty.

At one point, you and Half-Share wander up a path and stumble upon a whole group of boys who are wide-eyed witnesses to a public blow-job. You, of course, plop yourself down as if you're at the local drive in and dig deep into your crinkly bag for a big handful of Hint O' Lime. You're busy chewing your tortilla chip cud when the guy who's getting blown turns to the impromptu crowd and looks right at you when he says, "Honestly, I really can’t do this with an audience." You stop chewing the copious amount of chips that you've shoved in your mouth, roll up your half eaten bag, and slink away with Half-Share as you giggle your way out of the Meatrack. Anyway...

FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Disappears Without a Trace...

...but the idea of making Change of Address cards is way too daunting, so you decide to just blow it off. You don't even bother to send an email because there's just too much other crap to do! Your move is actually rather uneventful and happens much quicker than the estimate, yet somehow it costs more. That night, you meet up with the Boy Luck Club for a celebratory dinner in Chelsea, and although you are exhausted, the Boys are in a playful mood and the next thing you know Fat Albert is burning plastic straws with a candle and Half Share is dousing it with water. This, of course, turns into a full-fledged water fight and the four of you are soaked beyond recognition when you ask for the check. Rice Queen generously pays for everybody, which is a blessing because you couldn't afford it. Hell you can't afford anything since you bought furniture. For years you've depended on the kindness of roommates to furnish you, but now you have to go out and buy your own. And unfortunately for you, your taste is much fancier than it deserves to be.

Afterwards you head over to Therapy to meet your BFF for a very therapeutic beer bong which you take on your knees, mostly just to show off amongst all the gay boys who can't seem to funnel a beer without spewing Bud Lite. The applause helps you rise from your now wobbly knees, but even though you're light-headed you certainly notice the cute boy with the amazing body, leaning against the wall and smiling at you. Of course you start chatting him up, but unfortunately his body is more interesting than any of the conversation it produces. But that doesn't stop you from going home with him. Even though you just moved and should be dying to sleep in your own bed which has been in storage for a month, you're definitely in one of those moods where you'd rather wake up in someone else's.

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, even though you're far from sleeping, you are definitely in his bed. Although you don't have a problem with your slutty self as you grab at the sexy boy's wiener through his jeans, his wiener dog certainly does. Although your trick locked his demented dachshund outside of the bedroom, the jealous dog is having a tantrum, barking, scratching, ramming his little body against the door with the hope of getting inside and ripping you to shreds as if you were an old Blondie song. Although Wiener Boy tells you to ignore his pup, you're having trouble following his orders. You're also kind of turned off by the way Wiener Boy can't seem to look at you. It almost seems as if he's not just ignoring his diabolical dachshund, but he's trying to tune you out as well! Wiener Boy's eyes are closed as if he's trying to imagine himself somewhere else, which has the immediate effect of making you imagine yourself somewhere else, too. Specifically in your own bed without some insanely jealous yappy dog whose mission in life is to cock-block you! So you get up and tell him you have to go.

The next day you begin another lost weekend on Fire Guyland with the Kinsey 8. Your first evening consists of cocktails at Low Tea, cocktails at High Tea, followed by cocks and tails at Daniel Nardicio's Panty Revolution in Cherry Grove. You wear a cute pair of green Diesel's and end up hitting it off with DJ Aaron Elvis who calls you his muse and plays Rihanna's "Don't Stop the Music" before stopping the music and clearing the stage for Lady Gaga and The Dazzle Dancers. You "Just Dance" until the Dazzle Dancers eventually ejaculate glitter which instantly attaches to your sweaty body as if you are made of Velcro.

After the Glitter grenade detonates, you run into the Endohottie who you had an odd coffee date with months ago. Although it never blossomed into anything, you kind of thought it might, and tonight seems like the perfect time to find out for sure. You're having a super nice chat, but eventually your bladder gets the best of you and you excuse yourself for the little boys room. But when you return, surprise-surprise, Endohottie is nowhere to be found. And trust yourself, you're drunk enough to conduct a thorough, yet pathetic search even though the little sobering voice inside of you says you should call it a night because the Endohottie is long gone. When you don't recognize anybody, you decide it's time to walk home. You walk along the beach because it would take another keg or two before you were drunk enough to brave the Meat Rack at 2:30am wearing nothing but a cute pair of Diesel undies.

You wake up surprisingly un-hung, and since it's a lovely day you decide to take an outdoor shower. Unfortunately the boys next door (who are all a far cry from being The Boy Next Door), race up to their roof and start giggling while gawking at your birthday suit while you desperately try to not drop the soap. After an afternoon split perfectly between the beach and the pool, you end up running into the Endohottie at Low Tea who gives you a big fake, "Hello!" You cut to the chase and say, "You disappeared last night," to which he responds with an even bigger and faker, "Oh, I'm sorry." But you're over it so you ask him with a snarky tone, "Are you really?" and then you walk over to the bar because you're much better at drinking games than mind games.

After that, it's all a blur. You may or may not make out with an Indian guy whose name you can't seem to remember, although you do have distinct memories of touching his delicious body and dancing a bit too close for comfort. The next day someone confirms this by saying, "Who was that Indian guy you were making out with?" only you have no idea so you just shrug. Later on you receive a text message from some unrecognizable number which says, "Was a pleasure. Even if you stormed off." Your first thought is that it was from Indian Guy, but now you're wondering if it might be from the Endohottie? Regardless, you don't respond.

The next day you are definitely Hung, but somehow make it to the beach with Rice Queen. Nothing much interesting happens beside some rubbernecking when a really hot guy in a beard walks by and the two of you keep making googlie eyes at one another. Beard Boy stops and turns around twice, yet ultimately keeps on walking. And when the clouds blow in, you quickly vote yourself off the island.

That night, you decide to place a Missed Connections posting on Craigslist to see if you can find Beard Boy. And the next morning you actually get a response! You ask the guy to send a photo so you can make sure it's the same person, but when he ignores your request you are convinced you are being taken for a ride by a crazy person. But since you have his email address, you quickly look him up on Facebook and unfortunately the Crazy Craigslist Boy is neither Beard Boy, nor your type. So, in lieu of sending a photo, when he asks you if the guy you saw was wearing Silver Converse, although you have absolutely no idea, you simply reply, "No," and disappear without a trace. However, the next time you check your inbox there's an email from the Daytripping Freeloader asking, "What happened to you? Why did you disappear? Did I do something to offend you?"

Oy. You're a bit surprised because it's not like you've heard from him since your impromptu trip to Boston, but you also haven't been sweating it either. So you respond, assuring the Daytripping Freeloader that he did absolutely nothing wrong, but you just decided that the long distance thing coupled with his recent break-up (you're nice enough not to use the word "rebound") have made you take two steps back. When he replies and says, "That's fine. I just wish you had been more upfront," you initially wonder how much more upfront you could have been? But ultimately you decide to let it go and just disappear into the endless task of unpacking moving boxes. Anyway...

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

...but you thoroughly enjoy reading about them, so when you finally get to the last page of The Fountainhead, you feel like bragging about this major accomplishment of having A.D.D. and actually finishing a 700 page book! Only nobody's around because you are sitting on the beach alone and all your friends have long since gone back to the city because they have real jobs and actual homes. You actually started reading this book long before you decided to buy the apartment in Jackson Heights, and who would know that it would take longer to renovate 500 square feet than it would to read 700 pages? Of dense literature. With a very small font. You certainly didn't. Anyway.

Luckily your homeless life on Fire Guyland is coming to an end tomorrow, and then you and your pre-cancerous tan can head back to that other gay island that puts the "man" in Manhattan. Your friend Rice Queen #2 is headed to (surprise, surprise) Asia for a week and he has graciously and generously offered you to house-sit. But today you have nothing to do but pat yourself on the back for reaching the end of an endless book and wait for Low Tea.

Luckily Thursdays are the day when A-Share Boys swap their houses with the B-Share Boys so you are thrilled to finally see some cute new faces, however, Low Tea ends up being somewhat of an empty morgue, only, instead of formaldehyde, these boys veins are flowing with Finlandia. High Tea is even less busy, but you end up meeting a guy who, although not your type, is certainly very nice and entertaining. Hell, let's face it, he's talking to you and you are starving for some oral stimulation. Between your shitty cell service and your shoddy plans, you probably haven't spoken a word to another homo-sapien since the Kinsey 8 abandoned ship on Tuesday. Somehow it doesn't seem like this boy is bragging when he tells you that he writes pop songs that you've danced to and owns bars that you've drank at. A successful writer with unlimited access to booze! What's not to like? But when Pop Slinger buys you a drink, he orders himself a bottle of water. Perhaps his success came after his sobriety set in? Hmmmmm. You ponder this puzzling problem for a millisecond before taking a sip of your Planters Punch.

You start chatting with Pop Slinger about how happy you are to be voting yourself off the island tomorrow! Back to civilization! You've never been so excited to see straight people before! But when Pop Slinger says that he's also leaving tomorrow on the noon Fairy Ferry, you inform him that he should take either the 10am or 2pm, as the noon boat has over an hour wait for the train connection. This is when Pop Slinger explains that he actually has a limo coming for his friends and him, and then asks if you'd like to hitch a ride with them. You thank him for the incredible offer, but explain that you'd like to get in some beach time before schlepping home. Pop Slinger is nice enough to hand you his card, just in case you change you mind, and then he invites you to dinner. Although you've thoroughly enjoyed chatting with him, you don't want to give him the wrong impression by accepting his offer, so you tell him a little white lie that you already have dinner plans.

As you stumble home, you wind up running into your next-door neighbor who, unlike your quarter-Cher renting ass, actually owns his beautiful beach house with his boyfriend. And when he invites you to dinner, you figure it's the neighborly thing to happily and hungrily accept his invitation. However sometime during a delicious dinner of gourmet burgers, you realize that ground round is not the only meat being grilled tonight. You find yourself in the hot seat when a few questions reveal that your friendly neighbor's boyfriend went back to the city today and, when his knee starts rubbing up against yours, you realize that Neighbor Boy must be feeling a bit neglected. Although wedging yourself into another couple's messy marriage is not your cup of tea, you find yourself between a rock and a hard place. A really hard, very attractive place.

It quickly becomes uncomfortably obvious that Neighbor Boy wants to borrow more than a cup of your sugar. Although he obviously wants to Love Thy Neighbor, his ulterior motives are as veiled by nothing more than the flimsy piece of Saran Wrap which he uses to wrap up the left-overs. Neighbor Boy isn't really all that into you, he's just really into having sex with you. This becomes ridiculously obvious when Neighbor Boy starts taking off his clothes and literally yanking you toward his hot tub. But you start to think about your romantic evening with the Daytripping Freeloader. With him there was potential. With him there still is potential. With Neighbor Boy there is nothing more than a one night stand followed by a summer of awkward "Hellos" on the beach. At Low Tea. On the boardwalk. On the ferry. Probably only awkward for you, yet awkward nonetheless.

Unfortunately by the time you have this realization you are somehow giving Neighbor Boy a blow-job. What can you say? He took his clothes off to get in the hot tub, you resisted, yadda-yadda-yadda, and now his dick somehow ended up in your mouth. Hey, it happens. No big whoop. But you kind of push him away and stand up, and, without going into your whole psychology, you simply tell Neighbor Boy that you really have to go home. This is when he calls you a tease. Although he's right on some level, you definitely feel like you were slightly seduced into becoming the tease, however you're really not interested in having a whole ridiculous conversation about it. You just feel the way you feel and there's no point in trying to defend yourself because you know you're never going to change Neighbor Boy's mind and honestly you could really care less what he thinks of you. In fact, you're 99.9% sure that he's just calling you a tease in order to guilt you into finishing off what he made you start. Funnily enough, before you leave the awkward situation, Neighbor Boy hands you his card which either means he's not that upset or perhaps that he actually likes being teased. Regardless, you say goodnight.

The next morning you wake up to a frantic text from Rice Queen #2 who has just realized that his flight to India leaves two hours earlier than he thought. So in order to meet up with him so he can give you the keys to his apartment, you need to leave on the 10am ferry. Unfortunately when you receive his text it's 9:55am. And since the noon boat has a terrible train connection, you find yourself with no other opportunity to get home so you end up giving Pop Slinger a frantic call and ask if you can take him up on his offer to tag along in his Limo back to the city. Luckily, Pop Slinger says yes and before you know it your homeless ass is cruising down the Long Island Expressway in a stretch limo while sipping champagne and singing along to that old Pet Shop Boys song, "Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)". Anyway...

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

...anymore. You definitely have more than your share of hair, but luckily this includes your head, and the rest of your body can be easily manscaped away down the drain. Actually, that's not true. You definitely need to vacuum the tub after clipping, unless, of course, you want to gamble on the slim chance of having a hot Roto-Rooter serviceman come to your damsel-in-distress rescue. But luckily for you, you're on Fire Guyland with O.P.P. (Other People's Plumbing) so you just wash that shit down the drain and head off to Tea.

You chat it up with anybody who will listen to your mumbling stubble, but nothing memorable happens as the evening progresses from Low to High Tea (and FYI that's not because you blacked it out. You just chose not to remember.) Anyway. Suddenly one of your Kinsey 8 housemates taps you on the back and informs you that you are verrrry late for dinner. So you and the San Francisco Treat start walking along the boardwalk when all of a sudden the lightning illuminates your aging frown lines. Micro-seconds later, it's raining Cats and Dogs, and, since you have a paralyzing fear of pussy, you and the San Francisco Treat race home as fast as you can. Unfortunately your drunk little legs aren't quick enough to spare you from the Cat Spray and you are absolutely soaked by the time you arrive home.

You, of course, instantly change into a cute new t-shirt that's even more form-fitting than the wet one, and then you enjoy a lovely pork dinner that one of the Kinsey 8 cooked while you were out not remembering High Tea. After dinner the boys are obviously feeling frisky and your living room turns into an impromptu wrestling match. You, of course, avoid the potential for bruises and unsightly black eyes, and grab your digital camera so you can document them as they begin to unravel.

And unravel they do! Your anorexic friend, Fat Albert, who more-or-less runs a Fortune 500 company from 9-5, somehow winds up smack in the middle of a gay old time. Rice Queen #2 grabs himself some Spanish Rice and Fat Albert's pants instantly fall off, probably because his body is too rickety to defy the effects of gravity. You, of course, run downstairs to gossip with the Kinsey 8 about how 1/4 of your Quarter Cher are about to break the unwritten Fire Island rule of hooking up with a housemate! Your BFF races upstairs with you to witness the tragedy unfold, but by the time you return, the bedroom door is not only closed, but locked! Although you wait quietly in the hall for a photo-op, you are quickly shamed by the undeniable fucking noises that emanate from Behind the Green Door. You and your BFF giggle like a gaggle of girls and then head to your room to get gussied up for Sip N' Twirl.

You are brushing your pearly whites when the other door to the shared bathroom bursts open and Rice Queen #2 races in, naked, and he's as shocked as you are by the evolutionary Eden-like situation where you are unabashedly introduced to his unwelcome serpent. Luckily, Rice Queen #2 quickly grabs the roll of Charmin before disappearing behind the shelter of a fig leaf while you quietly click your heels together and say, "I wish I was at Sip N' Twirl!"

Afterwards the remaining Kinsey 8 heads out to Sip N' Twirl and fortunately it's not too crowded. You quickly gravitate toward the pool table and it's not long before the two Hotties playing Stripes and Solids suddenly make you want to sink your 8 Ball into a game of Pocket Pool. Stripes is Armenian and Solid is, well, solid. Although you are definitely more into Stripes, it quickly becomes apparent that Solid is more into you. However, having just manscaped, you find yourself a bit disconcerted by the tufts of hair that prominently form an undeniable Ring Around His Collar. But you decide to take the road less traveled and convince yourself that this is just some natural, hairy Ruff collar from the Elizabethan period.

Unfortunately when you go home with Solid you realize that his Ring Around The Collar is actually a floor length, head-to-toe, Chia Pet cape. Especially on his back. Chia Pet is the hairiest boy you've ever seen. His chest is so covered in fur that you can't even find a nipple. Although he has a great body, the kissing leaves something to be desired and nothing seems to make up the fact that your fingers seem to get tangled as you attempt to touch the Chia Pet. You may or may not fall asleep, but when you eventually come to your senses you realize that it is definitely time to go home. Chia Pet tries to convince you to stay but you are afraid to camp out and wake up in the bush. So he walks you to the outside gate with his raging hard on, which, surprisingly, is less hairy than the top of his shoulders. Then you race home and devour a delicious left-over pork chop. Unfortunately you lose your appetite when you actually have to yank one of Chia Pet's gray back hairs that's stuck between two of your teeth. Anyway...

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

...but you used to be. Which is why you are so surprised at how bizarrely un-gay your vacation turns out to be. Not only do you miss The Abbey's LA Gay Pride Party by a day (which is hosted by everybody's favorite Dirty Sexy Honey, Candis Cayne), you actually end up getting into a fight with an Abbey bartender over the trials and tribulations of closing your tab. Not to mention the fact that you don't meet anybody! And let's face it, you're the kind of fag that usually winds up meeting everyone! But you're happy because you get to catch up with your WeHo friends. Palm Springs turns out to be more of the same, but you do have a hoot at Wang's, but that probably has more to do with their $2 Happy Hour than with their clientele. The spotty liver-spotted crowd makes of Silver Foxes actually makes you feel like a spring chicken, and you can't help but smile when you pass by a man who says, "Hello, Gorgeous!" as you pass by. When you turn to smile at the adorable senior citizen (who retired long before you were born) you notice that he has one purple hair swirled around his head so many times that you begin to wonder if he got it styled a soft-serve specialist at Carvel? Anyway. San Francisco is more of the same, but that has more to do with the fact that you are there for your best friend's birthday who happens to be *gasp* straight. It's a big one for Blondie so you sacrifice your one gay night in the City by the Bay to celebrate with all of her straight mommy friends and let them have Pity for the Gay. You don't mind though, because the liquor flows and you have an excellent time, or at least that's what Blondie informs you when you wake up the next morning before flying back with a massive vodka-stained hangover.

Luckily with a quick swipe of your Visa, Jet Blue offers you some Hair of the Dog and by the time you land in New York you are more than ready to get your gay on, so you head directly to Fire Guyland from JFK. Before you can say Planter's Punch, you're actually sipping away at one during Low Tea. Which, Dear Reader, is where your story really begins. You become instantly aware that you certainly didn't leave your heart in San Francisco as you feel it drop onto the dance floor and get trampled upon during an Absolutely (Not) predictable Deborah Cox song. After catching your breath, just like Deborah, you decide not to compromise your point of view and race over to the boy who you've had bookmarked on Connexion since April Fools Day, 2007. You're definitely not going to let this opportunity pass, because, honey, you ain't no fool!

Your voice quivers as you ask the Most Masculine Man you've ever seen, "You were at Room and Board about a month or so ago, right? Furniture shopping with your parents?" However, when he laughs and confirms you suspicion with a snake-like "Yesssssss," you are in a bit of shock when his fabulous Fendi Bag practically falls out of his mouth. Although you are initially a bit shocked, you decide to ignore his lingering "s" and decide to give Massssculine Man another chance, because, after all, why the hell shouldn't you? This turns out to be a great decision because the two of you have a great time chugging drinks and chatting away during Low Tea. He's, surprise-surprise, an interior decorator, who grew up in Connecticut just like you. And like any good WASP, this boy likes to drink! His drinks are actually disappearing even faster than yours! You wind up having a lot in common, but most importantly, the Massssculine Man actually makes you crack a smile. Although he's not knee-slappingly funny, he is definitely ass-slappingly good looking enough to dig deeper for a sense of humor. So when he tells you that he has to go to the bathroom, you definitely decide to stay put and wait for the Massssculine Man to return. You wind up running into a few friends while you wait. And wait. And wait. However when the music stops abruptly, signaling that it is time for all Fire Island Fags to funnel their way from Low to High Tea, you suddenly find yourself feeling sssstood-up. The place empties almost instantaneously and there is nary a boy in the bathroom line, so you have no choice but to abandon ship and you follow your friends over to High Tea with your head Hung Low. You can't help but wonder whether your disappointment has more to do with the fact that you really did like this guy, or perhaps you just being a big baby about being rejected by the Massssculine Man?

You head upstairs with Rice Queen and Half-Share and wander through the mess of messy men at High Tea, looking for the rest of your Kinsey 8 housemates to inquire about your dinnertime. However, you instantly lose your appetite when you look up and notice the Massssculine Man taking his last ssssip from a cocktail that he must've ordered long ago while you were busy waiting patiently for him to return from the bathroom. Although you are completely embarrassed when you catch eyes, you decide confront the situation and you walk right up to him and ask (borderline) politely, "What happened to you?" When the Massssculine Man informs you that, "I looked for you..." you hear nothing but his blah-blah-blah about his famous dissssappearing act since you never left the sssspot where the two of you sssstood and yapped for over an hour. The same spot which happened to be less than ten feet from the bathroom. Since you have no interest in wasting more of anybody's time, you tell the Massssculine Man that you've got to find your housemates and quickly move on, albeit only physically, as emotionally you feel rather sssstuck.

That, of course, is when you notice the Endohottie who you met about a month ago on an irritatingly sober coffee date, and although you weren't sure if you were really all that into him, you decide that you might have more fun chatting over a Gay Cocktail. So you make your way over and give the Endohottie a big smile as you ask him what he's been up to. Luckily the Endohottie doesn't waste an hour of your time, because in about 3.2 sentences he informs you that he's got to head home to cook dinner for his house. And you just stand there for a moment of pity, where you suddenly find yourself wishing you were still in California where nobody bothered to talk to you. Anyway...

You’re Not One of Those Fags Who Publishes His Cell Number…

...but you are always happy to stumble upon some quality reading material to keep you occupied while you’re on the can. Even on the Long Island Rail Road. You are actually a bit skeptical, however, about John’s outlandish claims that he will, ironically, meet you in this particular John on the 5:09 pm train to Babylon (Monday through Friday no less) for some “Hot Man on Man Action!” Although you are pretty sure that John-John would probably not be your type, you are a little bummed that you are, unfortunately, on the 3:21pm to Sayville, because it would certainly be entertaining to watch some suburban commuter hovering around his personal little Meatrack on his way home to his wife and kids. You, of course, rush back to tell your own little Fire Island Fag Family all about John-John, mostly so you can enlist them for help to remember which exact train to take in June when you have your next Quarter Cher week on Fire Guyland. Luckily, one of your more prompt Housemates arrived to Penn Station early enough to secure a spacious six-person banquette, so you and five of the Kinsey 8's you share a beach house with can all sit together and shield yourselves from the unsettling number of Kinsey Zeros who could really benefit from an episode or seven of Queer Eye for the Long Island Guy.

Since this is your first weekend of the Fire Guyland season, you are initially a bit confused by the 22 year old Columbia Student from Hong Kong who, although much too young, seems way gay enough to be part of the Kinsey 8. For some reason, although it appears that his hair consultant is Christian from Project Runway, this gay boy does not seem at all interested in participating in any of your convergaytion. Eventually, when you can’t stand the suspense anymore, you decide to ask one of the three Rice Queens about their not-so-Ancient Chinese Secret? You aren’t at all surprised to learn that Hong Kong Boy Toy is Rice Queen #1 and Rice Queen #2’s Exchange Student for the weekend. You immediately feel like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles as her grandparents introduce her to the “Weird Chinese guy in Mike's room,” a.k.a. Long Duk Dong. Even though The Donger is nowhere near as social as the one played by Gedde Watanabe, he certainly is young enough to make you feel old enough to be Grandma & Grandpa. Which, in and of itself, is enough reason to instantly hate The Donger.

Luckily, this is when Rice Queen #2 pulls his weekend bag from the luggage rack, which clanks like a noisy wind chime and confuses you until he opens it up and reveals a nice travel sized unopened bottle of Knob Creek. Although you prefer clear alcohols for the same caloric reason you prefer Diet Pepsi, you quickly decide that beggar alcoholic buggers can’t be choosy, and you happily accept a big swig which instantly fills your esophagus with warmth and good cheer, almost as if it was a well endowed good queer. Since Rice Queen #1, Rice Queen #2 and Rice Queen #3 are all busy fawning over The Donger, you start chatting with Rice Queen #3’s Boyfriend who is a lovely Vietnamese boy from California. And since this San Francisco Treat has been in a relationship for several years, he seems to be quite interested in hearing all about your recent date with the Swedish Engineer that you've been fancying, Swedie Pi.

Although the Knob Creek is long gone by the time the Fairy Ferry docks at Fire Guyland, all of the usual Harbor Hob Nobbers start jumping impromptu Creeks that have formed along Fire Island Boulevard thanks to the monsoon that developed during your Escape From New York. You race to the Real Estate Office with the rest of the Kinsey 8 because you need to pick up the House Key before heading over to your house on Beach Hill Walk. The Donger walks along the path, umbrella-less, but Rice Queen #1 and Rice Queen #2 both sacrifice their own dryness, while selflessly choosing to shelter the Hong Kong Donger with their umbrellas as if not only his feet are bound, but his hands are too. Meanwhile, you wish that The Donger’s mouth was bound because everything that comes out of it just makes you feel as old as The Last Emperor.

Considering the downpour, your first night on Fire Guyland is a total washout, but luckily you wake up to a Sunshine Day that’s so gorgeous it’s worthy of a Brady Bunch song. After a leisurely breakfast you and the Kinsey 8 are surprised by an impromptu visit from a few Gentlemen Callers, who turn out to be some boys that share a beach house with your friend Half-Share (who upgraded to a Full-Share this season, only in a less glamorous house). It’s not long before you and all the rest of The Marys are sipping some Bloodies by the pool, however the real bloodbath begins when you all begin to crucify all of the poor gay boys unfortunate enough to be out of earshot. But you digress. The sky is blue and the vodka is Skyy and when the latter ends up being as clear as the former, you all decide to head over to Half Shares house for $90 worth of Tuna Fish sandwiches (purchased from the Grossly Overpriced Grocery) and you wash them down with a few Coronas (Light, of course, as Speedo season has officially begun), and sit by Half Share’s pool, boozing away the afternoon until Cocktail Hour finally arrives.

You race home and change into a scandalous pair of New Religions and decide to top them off with a politically correct, yet inappropriately tight, “Marriage is so Gay” T-shirt. After all your Gay Cocktailing, the fit is a bit too Gay-Tight, even for Low Tea on Fire Guyland, but black is always slimming, and considering everything going on in New York and California you decide that it’s an excellent conversation starter to begin your annual summer Husband Hunt. Low Tea at the Blue Whale is absolutely overflowing, and although you are just beginning your Senior Year of Camp Camp, some liver spots on certain Senior Citizens’ bald heads make your overworked liver feel as if it were the liver formerly known as Prince. So you, of course, decide to Party Like it’s 1999. You and the San Francisco Treat ditch The Donger and the Three Rice Queens and head over to the outdoor bar to order some drinks. Since the San Francisco Treat has never been to Low Tea before, you give him a quick education about the best value on the Island and revise his drink order with a round of Planters Punch that are so strong they seem to put more hair on your recently manscaped chest.

Once you have your drink in hand, you quickly ditch the San Francisco Treat so you can do an unencumbered Fruit Loop around Low Tea, as it's time to play your favorite game that you like to call,“Who Would You Sleep With?” Although the pickins’ are a bit slim (and not so slim in many cases), you eventually decide to talk to a boy who’s t-shirt begs you to “Take the Pepsi Challenge!” Although you are a Die-Hard Diet Pepsi fanatic, you definitely lose the Pepsi Challenge so miserably that you may actually have to wake up and nurse your hangover with a *gasp* Diet Coke tomorrow. But all you really want is a kiss. It feels like forever since your lips have been graced with all the possibility that a boy’s lying lips seem to promise, and tonight you feel like a Lip Syncing Missile as you mouth the words to some Disco song that’s even older than you.

Low Tea ends just when the sunset turns the western sky a lovely shade of Planter’s Punch, and you and the Kinsey 8 drag the San Francisco Treat down the dock and up the stairs for his first High Tea at the Glow Lounge. Luckily the music is a little more M People than Village People and you and your Planters Punch quickly Hustle yourselves over to the DJ booth where people are actually dancing without the aid of a ‘70s line formation. You are Mercifully drawn to the one Real Girl who is shaking her Fake Tits to Duffy and the two of you start to tear up the Pergo. There’s nothing you love more than dancing, and there’s nothing that Real Girl loves more than shaking her Fake Tits, so the two of you make a fantastic pair, flitting around without ever spilling a precious drop of your respective cocktails. It’s almost like an episode of Dancing With the Bars. But that’s when you see him. Leaning against the wall. Staring at you. Smiling at you. You flash him some dimple and abandon your Real Girl for the promise of a Real Kiss from a Real(ly) Cute Boy.

You quickly ingratiate yourself and are quite surprised when the whiskered boy puts down his Scotch Whiskey and introduces himself with a thick handshake and an even thicker Scottish accent. The talking quickly disintegrates into kissing, and you find yourself mashing against the wall between the DJ booth and the dark harbor sky which pours in from the open window. It’s really, really nice. You try to convince yourself that Hairy is the new Smooth as your clean-shaven face scrapes up against his unshaven one, but even you can see through your drunken denial as you can’t help but compare Scotch Whisker’s kiss to Blonde Beard’s. But he’s tall. And foreign. And available. God knows how many songs or how many kisses go by before The San Francisco Treat taps you politely on the shoulder to remind you about dinner, even though your intense appetite is no longer hungry for food. Scotch Whisky informs you that he, too, must head home for dinner and the two of you share one of those awkward “Where do we go from here?” moments. You assess the situation, and then decide, instead of asking for his number, to find out if he’ll be going out afterwards. When he says, “Indeed,” you smile and tell him, “Good. Then I’ll see you at Sip N’ Twirl later on.”

You get one last taste of the Dewar's on Scotch Whisker’s sweet breath before he leaves you standing alone on the dance floor. Although, you should probably be racing home for chicken that The San Francisco Treat has soaking in Red Wine for at least as long as you’ve been soaking in your own Vodka marinade, instead you find yourself pleading along with Rihanna for the DJ to “Please Don’t Stop the Music.” This moment is yours and you are floating with the evening’s new potential. You could give a shit that you are the only boy in the whole bar dancing. After all, it’s not the first time and it definitely won’t be the last. And you just Keep on Keepin’ On even when Half Share yells from across the bar, “Come on, Elaine!” as he throws his thumbs out, mimicking both you and Elaine Benes’ disturbing dance moves as he leaves the bar for another $90 Tuna Fish dinner. You just smile and wave goodbye, thumbs and all, until a small statured acquaintance who’s (allegedly) into fisting, locks arms with you and begins to drag you (fist first) and your good mood off the dance floor. You try to imagine a man’s hand rammed up your little friend’s bum as The Muppet pulls you away, showering you with patronizing tidbits like, “Come on honey, it’s really time to go home.” And you are instantly annoyed because, although you are, of course, drunk, you’re not that drunk. You’re just happy. Or at least you were until The Muppet had to go shackle your buzz. So you send The Muppet back to Sesame Street for a three way fist fuck with Burt & Ernie as you make your way back to dinner.

Dinner is on the table when you finally get home and the San Francisco Treat has really outdone himself tonight. Everything is made from scratch and there are no empty Rice A Roni boxes to be found anywhere. Even though it’s absolutely delicious, you find yourself racing through dinner so you can get over to Sip N’ Twirl and meet your Scotch Whiskers for another reassuring round of razor burn. You even, *gasp*, pass on the wine because you don't want to be too sloppy when you meet up with Scotch Whiskers. By the time you get to Sip N' Twirl you are relatively sober, especially for a person who started drinking twelve hours ago. Although you are tired, you are a man on a mission, specifically to be in the missionary position before the night ends. So you circle around Sip N' Twirl, over and over. And over. Even though it's dark and packed with boys, you search that gaystack from Tops to Bottoms for your lost needle, but you never find your Scotch Whiskers. By 2am you are practically falling asleep so you decide to call it a night and head home, alone, for a no-night stand with your right hand. But as you head out you notice The Muppet headed your way. Even though he's not dancing, per se, he is convulsing in such a disturbing way when he makes his way over, and his pupils are the size of frying pans as he traps you on the dance floor and shudders with a stutter, "Hey! Wanna dance?" You force a smile for the tweaking Muppet, and although you feel like you should probably call 911 and have him airlifted to a nearby hospital, you decide to let someone else lift him with their bare fist as you say, "No thanks," and head home.

The next morning you wake up bummed, wishing you had given Scotch Whiskers your phone number because now you fear you will never see him again. Eventually you pull it together and end up walking to town with Rice Queen #1 to pick up a dozen $8 eggs. Since #1 stayed in last night to Dingle the Donger, he's curious about what ultimately happened with Scotch Whiskers. And just as you're telling him your sob story of being stood up, guess who passes by on the boardwalk and calls out your name? Scotch Whiskers seems as genuinely excited to see you as you are to see him, even though he is walking with a boy who may or may not be his boyfriend. You decide to play it safe and introduce your friend first with the hope that Scotch Whiskers will introduce his friend sans moniker like, "This is my boyfriend." Which he does not. So then you say, "I looked for you at Sip N' Twirl last night, but couldn't find you." Scotch Whiskers explains that he was there, late, but he didn't see you either. You almost want to say, "I was the one running around all night looking for you," but then he says, "It was so crowded. We should have exchanged numbers." To which you find yourself responding in an unusual, yet appropriately pushy way, "Would you like my number?" Usually you never, ever offer up your number without being asked, but Scotch Whiskers, of course, says yes (what else is he going to say?) as he taps your number into his iPhone. You're kind of unsure about the impromptu interaction as you walk away, but Rice Queen #1 seems to think it went well and goes on and on about how lucky you are and "What are the odds of ever running into Scotch Whiskers again!?" You tend to think that the odds should have been higher for running into him last night at Sip N' Twirl, and you end up winning the bet (or perhaps losing it) when you never, ever receive a call from Scotch Whiskers. Anyway...