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...

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...