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 Fags Who Disappears Without a Trace...

...GPS is never even required because usually there's just a sloppy trail of martini olives that end up giving away your current location. However, today is another beautiful beach day on Fire Guyland so your olive trail ends smack in the middle of Beach Hill. You're sitting in the most ridiculous contraption that looks more like a sex sling than a beach chair only it's less comfortable. Luckily you get a very sweet, yet very misspelled text message from the Daytripping Freeloader which takes your mind off of your beach sling, "Thnx for an icredible evening. I miss your kisses and eyes already." The two of you end up texting back and forth about meeting one last time before he hops on the Fairy Ferry to head back to Boston, but you are tired and a bit cranky after sharing a twin sized bed with a grown man who snored, and the idea of rushing off the gorgeous beach is not your number one choice. But you agree to meet your new pothead friend at (ironically) 4:20 so you can have some quality time before the 5pm ferry.

All of your housemates, the entire Kinsey 8, are leaving the island today also so they can head back to civilization. Unfortunately, you are between apartments so you need to stay the entire week, which, quite honestly, is creating havoc on your liver. You're definitely ready to vote yourself off the island, but you'd much rather be homeless in The Pines than in The Rambles.

When your stomach needs something more nourishing than the lime garnishing your Corona Light, you run home to make sandwiches for everybody. However, your vegetarian friend, Fat Albert, places a special order and informs you that he'd like a grilled cheese. You stare at him for an incredulous moment before saying, "I'm not cooking." But he goes on to explain how simple it would be to find some Gruyere and lightly butter two halves of some French bread and lightly fry it, not too much though, because Fat Albert doesn't want his sandwich to be burnt. You are like, "What part of 'I'm not cooking' did you not understand?" and then you head back to the house. Even though there's nothing left-over but kitchen scraps, somehow you pull a Jesus on the Mount and miraculously turn the water into wine, and make enough turkey and cheese sandwiches for everybody but the vegetarian. However, since there's no bread left, you decide to bring Fat Albert some delicious left-over fish casserole which he made last night, and you head back to the beach.

You dole out the sandwiches and Fat Albert is not happy. Although you thought you were being extremely clear, for some reason he really actually thought you were really actually going to cook him up a grilled cheese. Really actually! Fat Albert seems so upset that he doesn't even eat the fish casserole and ends up giving you the silent treatment until it's time for you to leave to meet the Daytripping Freeloader at the Bay Bar. Needless to say, you don't mind excusing yourself from the awkward situation at this point.

You find the Daytripping Freeloader standing on the dock with his luggage and his street clothes and you give him a big kiss hello before your hungover ass grabs a table and orders *gasp* a soda water. It's has an odd taste without the vodka, yet somehow you're able to gag it down. The Daytripping Freeloader immediately gets down to business and catches you off guard with, "Where is this going to go?" and by 'this' he actually means 'relationship.' His question is as equally refreshing as it is off-putting. Seriously. How are you supposed to answer a question like that? You can't predict the future. But you can tell the truth. And you fear that you have met your match as you say, "I really have no idea. But I have two concerns. Number one, we live in different cities. And number two, you are six months out of a seven year relationship." You let your words sit there on the steel-mesh table as you wonder whether the Daytripping Freeloader's great intensity for you seems to be screaming "rebound," which has the direct effect of making your intensity much lower and much more wary.

However, the Daytripping Freeloader doesn't seem to be particularly concerned with either of your issues and he easily dismisses them with a simple, "This can go wherever we want it to go." But then he adds, "Unless you're going to be one of those guys who just disappears." You just sit there stunned, sipping your vodka-less soda while you wonder if you have actually met the one guy in the gay YOUniverse who happens to be even more conversationally direct than you? You immediately promise that you won't disappear, and you mean it. It's not like you haven't ever done the vanishing act before, but regardless of where this situation is headed, it suddenly seems worthy of truthful explanations.

That's when the Fairy Ferry arrives and the Daytripping Freeloader gathers his things together and asks for a kiss. Although you're not typically a big fan of P.D.A.'s (especially sober ones), you lean in toward his scruffy face and he kisses you so well that you actually lose yourself for a moment. The kiss is so damn good that, if you were standing your knees would give out. When he pulls away you end up pulling him right back into another kiss. You want more. You want that damn ferry to go away. You want everything to just stop so you can lose yourself in another kiss. The only thing that you are absolutely sure of at this very moment is that you will definitely see him again. Eventually you walk the Daytripping Freeloader over to the loading dock and watch him as he gets onto the boat. You end up staying and watch the ferry until it disappears into the horizon on it's way back to civilization. Anyway...

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

...but you definitely have faith in the Law of Averages. With all these silly boys you date, eventually one of them's got to be boyfriend material. Right? Anyway. You wake up on Fire Guyland feeling pretty fantastic after receiving a sweet text from the Day Tripping Freeloader, "Good morning handsome. Hope you slept well. send me a text and let me know when you are free." After last night's extremely romantic evening, you really can't wait to see him later! However, you're happy to have something to look forward to while enjoying a gorgeous beach day with the Boy Luck Club. But today is actually the Boy Luck Club plus one, as Fat Albert's Parisian boyfriend has flown in for the weekend. Ooh la la!

Although he's older than you, somehow you feel like you've become his unpaid babysitter because Le Boy gets off on teasing you and pushing you to the brink. For example, Le Boy begs you to go swimming with him, and when you politely decline he eventually comes back and shakes the water off his body in such a way that it sprays all over you. You ignore it even though this happens several times, but the last time Le Boy returns from a salt water swim he actually spits a mouth full of the Atlantic all over you. You jump up off your beach chair and Le Boy races down the beach like a seven year old straight boy. You let Le Boy get a nice lead before you grab his book of light summer reading, "Risk Management," and head toward l'atlantique to see if it can swim. Your friends cheer you on while you decide exactly what to do. You wind up propping the dry book in by the edge of the wet sand, letting Le Boy decide what's more important: saving his book from an approaching wave, or dragging your dry ass into the ocean. Of course Le Boy takes the risk and leaves his Risk Management book while chasing you down the beach. But eventually Fat Albert screams out to his Le Boyfriend and points out a giant approaching wave. Le Boy races back to save his beach book, and somehow he actually beats the wave by a split second. Only when he reaches down to whisk it away, he accidentally kicks the book with his big ol' adolescent pied, and Risk Management goes flying through the muggy air, landing smack in the middle of a wave. You feel a bit bad. But not too much. Anyway.

Although your cell signal seems to come and go like the tide, you and the Daytripping Freeloader text back and forth trying to make a plan for later. Somehow the day gets away from you, but you decide to invite your Boston Boy over for some pretoxication cocktails before Low Tea. Although you imagine your little Long Island Iced Tea Party to be a civilized sunset thing around the pool, it actually ends up being a lame Q&A around the dining room table as all your housemates are more interested in manhunting on their laptops than in the extremely flattering light outside. Everybody has loads of questions for the Daytripping Freeloader. Rice Queen is especially interested in his work, but you are horrified when you get a glimpse of his laptop while going to refill your empty glass. Rice Queen is actually googling the Daytripping Freeloader's keywords in the form of an unbelievably rude internet background check! But when the dialog turns back to the numbers conversation from last night, you are simultaneously curious and horrified when your housemates ask your guest about how many people he has slept with? And without a beat, the Daytripping Freeloader joins the highest ranks as he nonchalantly offers, "Over two hundred fifty," which, honestly, is not what you ever needed to hear.

You get one drink at Low Tea and can't help but notice the Daytripping Freeloader's roving eye, which is irritating, but easily remedied by a romantic walk down the pier to watch the sunset. He lays down on the boardwalk and you rub his hairy belly while yapping about nothing in particular. You do, however, learn that he is six months out of a seven year relationship and suddenly his roving eyes make complete sense. Can you say, "Rebound"? Regardless, time seems to slip away into the sunset, and since the Daytripping Freeloader has to go back to his place to cook dinner, he invites you back with him and you happily RSVP with an emphatic, "Yes!"

He ends up being an incredibly confident cook, and you, being a good sous chef, enjoy taking his explicit directions. The shrimp scampi turns out to be delicious, however the Daytripping Freeloader's roommates don't seem to be the least bit appreciative. Not only do the two of you end up cooking the entire meal, but you also end up setting the table, serving the dinner, clearing the table and doing the dishes! Were these gay boys born in a barn? Half of them seem to have cleaned their plates before you even take your first bite! Even though you helped cook, you are the only one who compliments the Daytripping Freeloader's delicious dinner, mostly because you are horrified by his vagabond housemates' behavior.

Afterwards, the Daytripping Freeloader asks if you want to get stoned and since you're pretty happy with your cocktail you politely decline. But then he adds, "Would you mind if I did?" To which you say, "Not at all," even though you think it's a bit odd that he'd want to get stoned alone on what is technically your first date. Does he find you to be so unbearable that simply being drunk is just not enough? Or is he just a big ol' pot head? Anyway.

Later on, you wind up back at your place in an empty bedroom with twin beds and walls that are tragically mirrored, but you quickly get over yourself and give into the tacky design as the two of you become extremely tactile. It gets pretty hot and everything goes swimmingly until the Daytripping Freeloader suddenly stops everything and asks you if you'd like to do poppers? Although you could take it or leave it, you accept his popper offer mostly because he's inhaling them like an smog ridden Angeleno at his first oxygen bar. Initially you're into the rush, but it quickly ends up being a grave mistake as you find yourself jumping from the bed and racing your naked ass to the veranda to get some fresh air for your spinning head. Luckily, you pull through and you and your headache head back to watch yourself contort into positions you've never even dreamed of in the mirrors which thankfully happen to be slimming.

The next morning your Kinsey 8 housemates are having breakfast around the table when you emerge down the stairs. You happily report that your "How many people you've slept with " number has increased by one, but Rice Queen needs you to be a bit more specific. "Which category? Fooling around or penetration?" You smile and simply say, "Both," as your dimples blush their way to the surface. Anyway...

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

...but when the DJ at Low Tea plays "What I Like About You" by The Romantics you can't help but race your way to the dance floor. Although you're a bit wary about running into Aussie Bum, you're actually more worried about cooking Sunday supper for the Kinsey 8 tonight, even though it's just hamburgers. Plus an Ahi Tuna steak for Fat Albert who is perpetually on a diet even though he weighs the same in pounds as you do in kilograms. Half-Share has vowed to help out so you figure you can enjoy a few cocktails at the Low Tea Meat Market before heading home to burn some much less delectable meat. However, when Low Tea comes to an end, Half-Share gives you a hard time and practically twists your arm to get you to go High Tea when he says nonchalantly, "Wanna grab another drink at High Tea?" to which you respond with an extremely reluctant, "Sure!"

You order the best value on the Island, a Planters Punch, and you've just begun to sip it when you notice a really sexy, scruffy guy across the bar who is so attractive that you forget to swallow. Almost. He looks over at you and it's one of those moments where you lock eyes and don't feel uncomfortable. At all. You give him a big toothy smile because you are suddenly very happy. Mostly because he's smiling back. And his look lingers, which gives you butterflies as well as confidence. This boy's got skinny little glasses and looks like a Jewish Doctor in desperate need of a WASPy dimpled Shiksa from Connecticut. Suddenly you don't want to leave to go home and cook. In fact, screw the food! This boy is so cute that you may have just started a new starvation diet. You tell your housemates that you refuse to leave before meeting this blue-eyed boy and when you turn around to look for him, he's standing right in front of you. He actually came over to meet you!

You introduce yourself and chit-chat about simple things that seem to take on a much deeper level, mostly due to your intense attraction that seems extremely mutual. Your blue-eyed Jewish doctor turns out to be an Italian salesman visiting from the South Side of Boston. He’s staying with friends who are renting a house for the week. Although you don’t want to leave High Tea, you explain to the Daytripping Freeloader that it is, unfortunately, your turn to cook tonight, and you must race back to prep for dinner. But that’s exactly when the DJ puts on an obscure mix of "Just Can’t Get Enough" which seems extremely appropriate since you Just Can’t Get Enough of the Daytripping Freeloader. When the extended remix unfortunately comes to an end, the Daytripping Freeloader asks for your number so you, of course, give it to him along with a kiss, which, just like Depeche Mode, you Just Can’t Get Enough. However, you’re a bit surprised when you are saying goodbye and the Daytripping Freeloader whispers, “What do you like to do in bed?” Although you’re never one to kiss n’ tell (kiss n’ blog, perhaps) you smile at the Sexy South Sider and say, “I'm sure you’ll find out later.”

Thank God you didn’t skip High Tea is all you can think as you race home to cook! Dinner, however, turns out to be a debacle. You practically asphyxiate yourself trying to start the grill, until Half-Share comes home and realizes that the starter is broken and you need a match. Then, considering how flammable of a flamer you are after a day’s worth of cocktails, you practically singe away any future need for manscaping. You’re husking corn when your cell flutters on the counter top as you receive a vibrating text from the husky-voiced Daytripping Freeloader. But it’s your heart that flutters when you finally read his message, “Those eyes are captivating I hope I get to see them again. Good luck with dinner.” Thanks to a few of your Kinsey 8 housemates who are much more skilled in the kitchen department than you are, dinner actually turns out to be almost edible and surprisingly nobody gets poisoned by your food. The frozen margaritas you make, however, should probably be served with a skull and cross bones on the glass.

During dessert the Kinsey 8 collectively decides to play a little “Get to know you better” game called, “How many people have you had sex with?” Luckily, you get to go last as this is not a game that you’re dying to play. You pour yourself a glass of wine but almost end up spitting it out when Rice Queen announces that his number is somewhere between 250 and 500! Although he’s older than you, he’s not that much older! You had no idea there were even that many gay Asian twinks in New York City! But you digress. As the game continues it’s way around the table, everybody’s numbers are very big (except for the San Francisco Treat who ended up marrying the first boy who put some Rice in his Roni), but when it comes to your turn you really think about it and come up with the number 50+. But then you make an amendment to the game and make everybody go another round. This time you want to know the penetration number. Enough of this Bill Clinton Blow-Job Bullshit. This time around the numbers drop considerably, and basically everybody's initial number is cut in half (except for the San Francisco Treat, of course) and you offer up a respectable 25, which seems rather reasonable considering fourteen of your thirtysomething years were spent in a relationship. And with that, you quickly change your t-shirt and race over to Slip N' Hurl hoping to increase your recently divulged player stats by one--specifically with the Daytripping Freeloader.

Only when you arrive at the bar it has somehow become 12:45 and after two complete loops your Boston Boy is nowhere to be found. Even though you know it's a bit ridiculous, you find yourself extremely disappointed until you remember that you have his phone number from when he texted you earlier. You quickly tap off a short note: "Are you out? I'm @ sip n' twirl but can't find you." Almost instantaneously you get a response that informs you to "Stay put. I'll be there in five." And luckily for you, the Daytripping Freeloader is a man of his word. When he arrives he looks just as good as you remember as smiles take over both of your faces and the rest of the boys in the bar quickly fade away from your concerns.

It doesn't take long before the two of you decide to take off and get away from the crowd. It also doesn't take long before you both realize that, due to unfortunate roommate situations, neither of you have a private place to go. You wind up back at the Freeloader's house (which is gorgeous) and start to make out on an uncomfortable concrete bench in his lush garden. His kisses are like buttah, and after the crappy dinner you made, you could use some nourishment! Honestly, even though it's buggy and you're being eaten alive by mosquitoes (and most likely, deer ticks), you really can't get enough of the Daytripping Freeloader's kisses and you continue to devour him until his housemates come home and turn on the outside lights. Embarrassed, you quickly jump off the bench and re-button your blouse and fix your lipstick in order to be introduced to his posse.

Moments later, you've already forgotten all their names as the two of you head down the boardwalk to go to the beach. You sit down at the edge of the beach and listen to the waves crash into the moonlit darkness as you get to know each other better. It's one of the most romantic evenings you've ever had on Fire Guyland, and you are perfectly elated, hours later, when you eventually find yourself walking home, alone, with your 50:25 ratio perfectly in tact, as well as plans to meet up with the Daytripping Freeloader tomorrow. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags on the Rebound...

...but you do bound out of bed in the morning and race to the bathroom to inspect your teeth. As you laid in The Ex's bed inspecting your Lovely Lady Mumps (which haven't shrunk one tiny bit since they mysteriously appeared five days ago), you suddenly realize that perhaps an infected molar might be causing your Jabba the Neck-like glandular swelling? Although you floss twice a day (you are a Dentist's wet dream, perhaps you should date one?), you've had some mild irritation since your last cleaning. Suddenly you feel like your gums are receding around that particular tooth and before you know it you are on the phone making an emergency dental appointment. Since your homeless ass is moving into your share house on Fire Guyland for the next week, you want to have this tooth looked at before you end up needing to be airlifted from Low Tea for a root canal.

By the time you arrive at your dentist's office you are absolutely positive that the tooth needs to be extracted and that everybody you date from here on out will think that you have Meth Mouth. But after some digital x-rays, your dentist informs you that there is nothing at all wrong with your tooth. She concurs with your doctor that your Lovely Lady Mumps must be a stress-related condition due to your recent move as well as your current situation of homelessness. Ugh.

Later that afternoon, you and your Lovely Lady Mumps decide to schlep out to Jackson Heights so you can check on the progress of your new apartment renovation and then hop on the Fire Island Fag Express in Jamaica. Luckily, when you see the apartment they are actually painting it! Your whiny Real Estate Broker, Annette Weining, informs you that it will be finished next Wednesday so you'll need to schedule an appraisal. Suddenly you start to see an inviting porch light at the end of this hellish homeless tunnel! Then you race over to the LIRR station in Jamaica and, as usual, meet three of the Kinsey 8 in the second car of the train. They've scored one of the social, six person banquette seats but right after you sit down, a hefty middle-aged woman squeezes her way through your He Man Woman Haters club and plops herself in the middle seat between Fat Albert and Rice Queen. Although everyone is irritated by the intruder, Fat Albert actually says aloud, "American trains need bigger seats because everybody in this country is fat." Your jaw drops, as does the Middle Aged Heffer's, and she says, "I will choose not to take offense to that." And with that the train continues it's way down the tracks of Denial.

After a semi-awkward ride to Babylon, you all have to switch trains and for some unknown reason the new train is much too small and it's a chaotic mess so you all get split up. You wind up lucking out and actually get a seat sitting next to a very cute boy, however, the two of you can't even chat due to a very loud, extremely cellfish phone conversation directly behind you. It actually becomes comical when the poor girl starts bawling and says way too loudly, "It's just harder to be with you than without you!" The whole train stifles a collective schadenfreude giggle. However you literally burst into tears laughing. You feel bad for the poor girl and her public break-up, but you have absolutely no control over your sick sense of humor.

Once you boys reconvene at the house the Kinsey 8 decides to pretoxicate before Low Tea, and, really, who are you to judge? The vodka is flowing through your veins by the time you begin to circulate through the throngs of boys at the Blue Whale. Collectively you all ignore the beautiful sunset in favor of much prettier Tequila Sunrises that you're drinking. But suddenly the sunburned boys part like the Red Sea and you find yourself catching eyes with Baby Daddy. You both smile awkwardly but you decide to be the bigger person and go over to actually say hello. Honestly (not that you really care), but the way he blew you off was rather strange and you're sort of curious as to what the hell happened so you figure chatting for a bit will be a nice way to smooth things over.

Only when you start talking, the conversation quickly turns all deep and weird (his doing, of course) and you're a bit confused about what the hell is actually happening? Is he into you or isn't he? And ultimately does it really matter because, honestly, you're just not that into him. But the mystery sucks you in and the next thing you know Baby Daddy pulls you out of Low Tea and walks you down to a quiet space on the dock so you can "talk." You are actually so confused by the elaborate romantic gesture that you quickly confess that you assumed that he just wasn't interested in you. At all. And then since it's one of the rare occasions in your life where you have absolutely nothing to say, you end up listening intently to everything Baby Daddy tells you. He starts yapping about how he isn't over his Ex and about how he wants to go out with you again. You can't help but think "Rebound!" as he apologizes for his sudden disappearing act, yet he explains that it had nothing to do with you. You appreciate the gesture, even though you thought that you both kind of mutually disappeared by choice. Baby Daddy then makes a bold promise that the two of you are going to go out again and that it's going to be a great date! After that Baby Daddy starts using the future tense about how "We'll do this," and "Then we'll do that!" You're so confused. It's almost like he's planning your whole relationship which you assumed never even began. The whole thing is so weird that you begin to wonder if he might be on something? But you play along just because the conversation is so bizarre that it feels best to not make waves. Luckily Baby Daddy is going home tonight on the last ferry with his friends, but he informs you, with a kiss, that he's returning (or possibly rebounding) to Fire Island tomorrow for The Invasion. 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 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...

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...