FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Glosses Over Everything...

...but you are ridiculously behind in your Blah-Blah-Blog and it's just completely unacceptable. So buckle your seat belt boys, 'cause the next few entries are gonna be a little bit bumpy. Anyway...

You had a few therapeutic beers at Therapy with Rice Queen before schlepping over to the Yaz reunion concert! It was packed but you were not about to watch Ms. Moyet from the back of the boat. So you dragged Rice Queen through the crowd saying lies like, "I don't see them. Where did they say they'd be standing?" And you work your way to the front center of the stage. The show is phenomenal although the people around you (who you'll never see again) are annoyed.

Afterwards you and Rice Queen head to G and run into a few of the Daytripping Freeloader's housemates who are actually very nice even though you previously felt like they were born in a barn. You tell them that you've been chatting with the DF almost every day and that you're planning a visit to Boston soon. You also run into the San Francisco Treat who offers your homeless ass free range of his Greenwich Village apartment as he's leaving for California in the morning. You are ecstatic! But you are also drunk, because when you finally get back to Fat Albert's apartment (your current homo home) you spend over five minutes trying to unlock his door. Anyway...

A few days later you're about to fall asleep in front of your laptop late in the afternoon when suddenly you get a text that Wakes You Up Before You Go Go! Your new blog buddy, the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy actually invites you last minute to the George Michael concert! You race home to shower and change and then meet NPBPB at his gorgeous Chelsea apartment where you all drink copious amounts of vodka before walking over to Madison Square Garden. Since NPBPB is verrrrry connected, you actually get to watch the show from a VIP Booth (courtesy of Rupert Murdoch) which is stocked with free liquor and delicious food! Afterwards your little group returns to the riff-raff reality and as you are exiting NPBPB's boyfriend spots a chubby George Michael look-a-like and NPBPB is so enamored that he actually races over and asks George Munch-All if he can touch his touched-up hair! Anyway...

You've had plans for months for a mini-High School Reunion with The Bolters in Providence, RI, but you amend your plan and take the internet-enabled Bolt Bus up to Boston the night before so you can see the Daytripping Freeloader. When you get there it's pouring rain and the Daytripping Freeloader greets you with a pop of his trunk which doesn't seem like the most chivalrous of acts.

He drives you back to his house which is huge and new and on the outskirts of the city. It feels like one of those model homes that nobody lives in and everything you say is echoed throughout his overly air-conditioned abode. You talk about getting dinner but the Daytripping Freeloader practically rapes you, which is fine, but when the poppers make their inevitable appearance, this time you pass on them as well as the inevitable migraine that will quickly follow. But after a few sniffs, the DF wants to have sex in the mirror, and honestly, you're feeling a bit Gay Fat. You agree, and end up making a big boy mess all over the bathroom floor (the DF never makes a mess. Actually, to this day he has never made a mess even though he claims that he loves to have sex. Apparently he just doesn't like to finish.) When you go to clean up after yourself he just throws a wash cloth over the dirty DNA as if it's a dead body and then pulls you into the shower. With his glasses on.

You get sushi take-out but he never takes it out of the Styrofoam containers, and then he starts telling you about how he has slept with 35 guys in the past six months in an attempt to fuck his way to happiness. He also tells you that he hasn't checked his ex's Manhunt emails in 53 days. What he doesn't tell you (but is glaringly "where-did-I-leave-my-sunglasses" obvious) is that he is rebounding like a super ball dipped in Flubber.

Eventually you go to bed and you're surprised when Mr. Twice-A-Day doesn't want to have sex, especially since he never got off. However, after hours of trying to fall asleep in the strange bed with your strange bedfellow, the Daytripping Freeloader wakes you up in the middle of the night with a serious of irritating gropes which you ignore for at least a half-hour before you finally have to whine, "I'm sooooooo tired." Luckily he gets up early to go to work and you get to bounce without having to have some drawn out, glossy goodbye with the rebounder. 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 Dignified Fags...

...who thinks his pants are too fancy for Cherry Grove. However, you are definitely one of those lazy fags who rarely schleps his way through the Meat Rack in fear of losing his cheap pants on the way there. Actually you're kind of terrified of the Meat Rack, mostly because you know that if you found yourself in some dark, unsavory, sticky situation, you'd just wind up giggling like some nervous nelly and run out with your tail between your legs. You also prefer to actually see the people that you have sex with. Perhaps you're just a bit old fashioned in that way. But it's lunchtime and Rice Queen feels like a walk, so you, Rice Queen #3 and The San Francisco Treat decide to grab a bite in Cherry Grove. Luckily everybody's pants (all of which are much fancier than yours) stay completely buttoned as you pass through the mysterious Meat Rack.

When you woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of noon you instantly began to piece together the events of the previous evening before pulling your tired old ass out of bed . Although your memory is just as hazy and humid as today's weather, you unfortunately remember drunkenly agreeing to go to Aussie Bum's 29th birthday party at 2pm. Only you don't want to go. Although he was kind of cute, he really wasn't you're type. He was more than a bit too intense, more than a bit too young, and way more than a bit of an awful kisser. Even though you really don't want to send the wrong signals by going to Aussie Bum's party, you also hate going back on your word.

You poll your friends over lunch about how you should handle this Aussie Bum situation, and the general consensus is, "If you don't want to go to his party, then just blow it off." Although you know that this tact will send a very clear signal to Aussie Bum, you still feel lame about it. But that's when you receive a text from Aussie Bum that says, "Let me know if you are swinging by, if not, no stress. Cheers." The worst part comes when you notice that the timestamp reads 2:05pm. With all your lollygagging about whether or not you should go to his damn party, you are now officially five minutes late, not to mention more than a half-hour away. But during your past thirtysomething years in the YOUniverse, the one thing you've actually learned is to trust your actions more than your feelings. When it comes to your emotions, you're just a big ol' gurrrl who doesn't want to hurt Aussie Bum's feelings. But if you look closely at your actions, you obviously have no desire to go to his party. Hell, you've been hemming and hawwing all day, you've lost track of time, and now you are about as far away as you could physically be from Aussie Bum. As C + C Music Factory would say, "Things That Make You Go Hmmmmmmm." Obviously you just ain't that into Aussie Bum. So you text him back and say, "Hey. Im in cherry grove for lunch and not feeling so hot. If im feeling better maybe I'll see you @ tea. Happy Birthday!" To which Aussie Bum replies, "Yes, I imagine a lot of people on the. island feel not so hot today.Thanks for letting me know, enjoy the Grove..."

After a delicious lunch you all decide to take a peek in town before you head back, and of course you end up running into Baby Daddy who is, ironically, wearing nothing but an Aussie Bum bathing suit. Albeit last years '07 model, Baby Daddy is filling it out very nicely. His friends are also scantily clad and seem to be irritated as you stop them to say a simple hi and give Baby Daddy a kiss hello. You chit chat for approximately 2.2 sentences before Baby Daddy's friends say, "We have to go now," and drag him away rather rudely. Although it's weird, it's totally fine. The last time you saw him he was busy describing the romantic date he was going to take you on, and now he's too busy to say hello? It's not like he's wearing a Tuxedo and late for a wedding. He's in a skimpy Speedo! Even if he's late for the beach, it's totally overcast! Baby Daddy is an enigma wrapped in a riddle shoved into a fortune cookie sealed in cellophane that you have no desire to unwrap, let alone eat. Next!

The day progresses like any other on Fire Guyland. Beach Cocktails, Pool Cocktails, Low Tea Cocktails, High Tea Cocktails, Dinner with an overpriced bottle of cheap wine, a bit of after-dinner dancing on the dining room table in your underwear, and then, of course, it's off to Slip N' Hurl. Luckily at High Tea you ended up swiping an entire sleeve of Fire Island Pines cups from the bar when the bartender was busy ignoring you. With these special cups, not only do you have a wonderful To-Go cup for cocktailing along the boardwalk without being hassled by the police, but with these particular magical cups you can actually walk right into the overpriced bars because they assume you ordered the drinks from them! Not that you condone stealing, but come on! Would you convict a starving child who stole an apple from a bodega? Of course not. And this is the same exact principle.

As usual, upon arriving at Slip N' Hurl, it's everyman for himself and the Kinsey 8 quickly divides to conquer. You, of course, get sidetracked on the dance floor, but before you can even complete an entire Fruit Loop, your inner Elaine finds yourself flailing, or rather dancing, smack in front of Aussie Bum. You quickly ask, "How was your birthday party this afternoon?" and when he replies, "It didn't happen," you are equally confused and yet completely relieved. You can't imagine showing up to a party for someone you just weren't that into, where you were not only the sole guest, but his only present to boot! But Aussie Bum doesn't seem to care that his only guest was a no-show. Your attempt at a simple, trite conversation quickly segues into how Aussie Bum seems to think you are just the greatest thing since the invention of the Gay Bar. And come on, nobody's that great. Especially you. This boy barely knows you. You chatted yesterday. For a bit. Your signals of disinterest were pretty clear (except for the kissing part, of course). Hell, he doesn't have any clue about who you really are! The fact that he is so interested when he knows nothing about you is kind of a turn off. Perhaps he likes you because he thinks you're playing "Hard to Get," when in reality you are really playing "Impossible to Get"? Actually you're not playing at all. But then again, on the other hand, his enthusiasm for you makes you wonder if you might be turning into one of those boys who is only interested in boys who have no interest in you? Ugh.

Regardless, the conversation begins a downward spiral. Aussie Bum's intensity, coupled with his bad breath begin to singe your eyebrows. Even though you are practically mute, he begins bombard you with requests for dates when he returns from an upcoming business trip. But when you politely decline he becomes relentless. He begins explaining how you two got off to a rough start and that he wants to make it up to you. Suddenly you are aware that this boy, for some unknown reason, has completely romanticized you into someone who doesn't exist. Which is more than a bit disconcerting. Although you do believe in love at first sight (okay, lust), you also believe that it has to be a two-way street! And right now Aussie Bum is on a lovely, yet very private cul de sac. So before the conversation gets even more awkward, you decide to be as clear as possible in response to what seems to be escalating into an unsolicited marriage proposal. You say, "I don't think it's a good idea if we go out."

Your honesty, of course, backfires. Whoever said, "Honesty is the best policy," was definitely not gay. Anyway. Aussie Bum is now both slightly mad and probably more-than-slightly embarrassed. But he definitely heard you, so you decide to shut your big trap in order to let your words sink in. Aussie Bum actually begins to argue with you about why you should go out with him and you begin to get freaked out. Being a lawyer, Aussie Bum seems to think he can somehow sway your drunken jury. But his closing argument actually concludes with, "If you want me to go away and never come back, then just say so." How on earth did it suddenly get to this point? You just met this guy last night! Such drama! Unfortunately you realize that you have no other choice but to answer his question, so you say, "I think you should go." Aussie Bum stares at you for an endless, yet incredulous moment, and then he turns and disappears into the crowd at Slip N' Hurl. A sudden wave of relief takes over as you walk outside to find Rice Queen and fill him in on your latest drama.


But two seconds into your recap with Rice Queen you are tapped on the shoulder by none other than Aussie Bum! You are dumbfounded when this relative stranger asks you why you don't like him. Although you would usually say something like, "Does it matter why I don't like you?" but something about this boy is off. Very off. For some unknown reason he is a bit obsessed by yours truly, and images of boiled bunny rabbits begin to dance through your head. So you say as politely as possible, "You are really freaking me out!" Eventually Aussie Bum leaves, and this time you watch to make sure he leaves. At this point you are done. You want to leave immediately, but you ask Rice Queen to walk you home because you're actually freaked out that Aussie Bum might follow you and jump out of the bushes on your way home. On the walk back to Beach Hill Walk you receive a text from Aussie Bum: "Hey – I’m sorry. I’m terrible in siuch situations, but an eternal optimist. I may hit you up in a few weeks, hope I’m not so scary. I’m intense but do think you’re worth a touch of my dignity." Anyway...

You're Not One of Those "Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Sam" Type of Fags

...but that's pretty much how you left it with Baby Daddy after the whole "You want to fuck that Muscle Boy, don't you?" incident. Of course you ended up fucking that Muscle Boy, but even though you'd really like to date a funny boy, you kind of assumed that you'd be laughing with him, not at him. You and Baby Daddy texted back and forth a few times afterwards, but nothing ever came of it. In fact, Baby Daddy was the one who ultimately let the ball drop. Although you're not really sure why exactly he disappeared, you're definitely not worrying about it. Hell, it's summer and there are boys in Speedos to oggle!

Speaking of which, it's an absolutely gorgeous day so you and your BFF take the train to Jones Beach to work on your tan lines. And the boys are even more gorgeous than the weather. There's this one Hispanic boy in particular that has definitely caught your eye, and although your taste in men rarely overlaps, you and your BFF are literally about to wrestle over him. Luckily it's a moot point because the Hot Papi is there with his boyfriend and, get this, their two kids! Talk about a dick deflator. The kids, however, are extremely well behaved, and, you have to admit, it's pretty damn hot watching him be a Papi. You and your BFF spend the afternoon concocting an entire back-story for the two Gay Daddies. Since one of the boys is white and the other Latino, you decide that they must have each used the same white surrogate mother so that the boys are technically half-brothers. Your back-stories, of course, quickly morph into fantasies where the Hot Papi leaves his hubby after falling helplessly and hopelessly in love with either of you. Preferably you.

Both of you are still eyeing the Hot Papi when you are packing up your stuff to head back to the city, when suddenly, almost as if your fantasy has willed it to happen, Hot Papi walks over to you and says, "Hey, isn't your name [INSERT YOUR NAME HERE]?" and you are absolutely stunned because Hot Papi is right! You say, "Yeah," but it's obvious that you are confused and can't place him, even though you honestly can't imagine ever forgetting a face as sexy and handsome as his. However, Hot Papi goes on to explain that he met you at G the night you met Baby Daddy. You remember meeting a bunch of Baby Daddy's friends, but you were pretty hyper-focused on Baby Daddy that night so you cut yourself some slack for not remembering Hot Papi. You're also pretty sure that Hot Papi looks better in a skimpy Speedo than he did fully clothed that night at G. Anyway. You and Hot Papi quickly start yapping about Baby Daddy and so you ask how he's doing. Hot Papi informs you that Baby Daddy was actually supposed to be at the beach today, too, but that his daughter refused to go. You want to ask if all the Gay Daddies belong to some secret club but instead you say, "Tell Baby Daddy I said, 'Hi'," and Hot Papi promises you that he will indeed.

On the train back to the city, your BFF can't get over the fact that you had met the Hot Papi before and forgotten him, so he informs you that you have been disqualified, and he has won the the Hot Papi game of Fantasy Boyfriend by default. You reluctantly agree, but then decide to text Baby Daddy about the bizarre beach incident, just to see what will happen. You write, "You missed a beautiful day at the beach today. The weather wasn’t too bad either ;-)" and you get a response almost immediately, "I was supposed to go today but my daughter didn’t want to go. Next time I guess. Hope u had fun." Which is a lame blow-off and you know you should just let it go, but you decide to continue to taunt Baby Daddy with, "Your Hot Papi friend already told me. Too bad. It would’ve been nice to see you in a skimpy Speedo ;-) On my way back to the city now." He returns with a vague response full of zero questions, “LOL. Maybe go in a couple of weeks. Should be fun," so you decide to finally drop it. You really don't know why, but it's obvious that Baby Daddy is as just-not-that-into-you as you are just-not-that-into-him! But then you wind up receiving another post-blow-off text which really surprises you, but when you pull out your phone you realize that it's not actually from Baby Daddy. It's from the Portuguese Brazilian From London, who has, once again, commuted back to New York and is wondering if you'd like to get together tonight. Christ! Your Saturday night is starting to look like it's suddenly about to get redeemed.

Later on, after a few drinks at Duplex with the San Francisco Treat and Rice Queens I through III, you head up to Vlada to meet the Portuguese Brazilian From London. However, he's late, which is annoying since he picked the place and the time, but you kill some time yapping with Vlada's big bull dyke bouncer, aptly named Tonka until the Portuguese Brazilian From London shows up and, although it's been months since you've seen him, you quickly remember why you liked him so much. Hell, he's smart, funny and handsome! What's not to like? Oh yeah, the fact that he lives in London and has a New York boyfriend suddenly come to mind... However, the two of you end up having such a fun time flirting and chatting that you begin to get a bit melancholy. Why does it have to be so fucking hard to meet a great guy? And when you do finally meet one, why does he have to be so fucking unavailable? Your catches always turn out to be more like Catch 22's, and you almost decide to call it a night and head back to your Home-Sweet-Hovel to huddle over some Häagen-Sweet-Daz, but then something magical happens. The Portuguese Brazilian From London makes you laugh. The fact that he can make you giddy during your Pity Party ultimately pulls you out of your funk, and before you know it, the two of you are in a cab headed to your place.

You're a bit terrified that your Hobosexual roommate will be up watching Sex and the City reruns, but luckily the coast is clear and the two of you end up making your own lost episode of Sex in the City. You, of course, are playing Carrie, and, luckily, the Portuguese Brazilian From London, winds up playing a dual role of Mr. Big combined with dirty old Samantha. However, as soon as it's over, before you can even grab a Kleenex from the tissue box, the Portuguese Brazilian From London is literally pulling up his pants and tightening his belt. You feel ridiculous wiping cum off your chest while this man is, most likely, coming up with excuses to tell his New York boyfriend about why he's getting home so late. Even though the whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous, you walk the Portuguese Brazilian From London to the door, lock it, and then hop in the shower because you suddenly feel like that dirty old Kleenex you just used up and threw away. Anyway...

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

...but you do find yourself green with envy when your Straight Boyfriend starts doing the "we" thing. Sometime during the last few months he progressed from being a sad and lonely "I" to being a happily-ever-after "We." You haven't seen much of your Straight Boyfriend since he moved over to the Darkside and became a "We," but tonight you both left work early in order to catch up over some cheap drinks and free happy hour food at Spain. Although you want to smack him each time he talks about himself plurally, you end up being the one who needs to be smacked out of your state of shock when your Straight Boyfriend informs you, "We're actually moving in together." Although you're happy for your Straight Boyfriend (after all, it's Mrs. Oui who you're jealous of!), you find yourself wondering if you'll ever meet someone who you can have a relationship that actually lasts longer than your monthly Metrocard? Is this really too much to ask for out of life? Time seems to be tick-tick-ticking away and somehow you're still kick-kick-kicking yourself because you seem to be just about as far away from your "We" goal as ever.

Luckily your jealous moment of silence is interrupted by an older gent sitting next to your Straight Boyfriend as he literally falls from his bar stool and does a Long Island Iced-Tea plunge onto the bar floor. Although your chivalrous Straight Boyfriend hops to the gent's rescue, you can't help but break into hysterics because you had been watching the drunk gent talk to an imaginary pink elephant for the past twenty minutes before reaching his tipping point. The Gin & Tonic Gent dusts himself off and goes right back to his G & T, which, somehow, never spilt a drop.

That's when Mrs. Oui shows up with a friend of hers, and you force a grimaced smile as you say, "Congratulations, I just heard the big news." Mrs. Oui thanks you and then begins doing the "We" thing while you begin to wonder how your Boys Night Out suddenly turned into a We Night Out? Had you known you probably would have stayed at home alone and played your Hobosexual Roommate's Nintendo Wii instead. Things get worse when, out of nowhere, Mrs. Oui's annoying friend starts to fondle your chest. She's drunk as a skunk and starts saying things like, "It's such a shame that you have to be gay. What a waste." Even though you know that nothing good will come from any response at all, you can't help but say, "Actually, it's not a shame at all. In fact, I'm pretty fucking ecstatic about it." And then, for some unknown, yet completely irritating reason, Drunk Girl begins to hurl bar peanuts at you. One by one they irritatingly hit your chest and you just stare at Hurl Girl with disgust as she continues to toss free salty bar snacks at you. When you realize that Hurl Girl is never going to stop you decide to go to the one place where you can escape her Chick Fit and you announce, "I'm going to the men's room," even though you don't even have to pee.

In the bathroom you, of course, send out an email blast to all your Blackberry Boys in search of a rescue ring! Then you kill some more time by checking your email. Luckily there's actually a Connexion message so you log on to see if perhaps your future "We" has just contacted you. You are in absolute shock when you realize that the boy who has just written you is the same boy who dissed you last weekend on Fire Guyland! The Massssculine Man says, "how's it going? nice meeting you over the weekend, hope you had a good one. i'm back to civilization and i think my liver is happy about it. hit me up sometime if you feel like grabbing a bite to eat in the neighborhood (before you move). in the meantime, i'm prepping a list of hard-hitting questions. hope all is well and that you enjoyed the rest of you weekend." You're in shock because you were sure that the Massssculine Man had absolutely no interest in you! It's definitely another big gay conundrum, but you and your A.D.D. are quickly sidetracked when you receive a text from Rice Queen telling you to meet him and the San Francisco Treat at Beige. When you return to the bar, you tell the "We's" that you've got to go but not before you tell Hurl Girl, "You know, I've been thinking and I don't think it's at all a shame that you're straight." And then you throw a few peanuts that quickly disappear into her heaving cleavage before you race out the door and hail a cab.

Beige is packed with boys who don't think it's a shame that you're gay, and you grab a cocktail and start chatting with your Gay Posse and their friends. Everything is going swimmingly (mostly because nobody is throwing anything) until one of the Rice Queen's friends suddenly flings a completely shocking, "I love your blog" at you. You stammer before finally saying a simple, "Thanks," and then you sneak Rice Queen a dirty look but he just shrugs in a confused manner which makes you wonder who told this boy about your Blah-Blah-Blog?

Your paranoia takes you on a Fruit Loop of the busy boy bar and you wind up chatting with some awesome-looking Aussies. It quickly becomes apparent that they are much younger than you, but you stumble through the conversation with a few key phrases that you've learned in order to make you presentable to the Flip-Flop generation. For a while it actually seems like the Awesome Aussie is interested in you. You're completely flabbergasted and flattered, until he asks the dreaded question, "How old are you?" You can't help but notice his shock at the number you dole out, and his surprise is quickly replaced with disinterest. Suddenly you're insanely jealous of the Awesome Aussie and his youth. Obviously he has no interest in being your "We." So you cut your losses and end up running into a Ski Fag from your Chamonix trip and his long, beautiful blonde hair. Sampson gives you a big hug and the two of you start yapping about the ski trip last February. You're actually a bit surprised when Sampson tells you that it was the best trip that he had ever taken. You prompt him to qualify his statement by asking, "You mean because of the amazing skiing?" To which he responds, "What skiing? I was having too much fun getting to know everybody!" Now you're not usually someone who holds his cards close to his chest, but you find yourself feeling a bit cautious as you admit, "I dunno. I kind of thought some boys were a bit cold or something." And Sampson informs you, "That's because you won the trip and isolated yourselves." Isolated yourself? Is Sampson kidding? It's kind of hard to isolate yourself when everybody's busy doing it for you! But you continue to probe, "What does winning the trip have to do with anything?" And everything clicks when Sampson says, "Everybody who paid thought that they were subsidizing your free trip." Although you know that the trip was paid for by corporate sponsors, suddenly you realize why everybody was so cold. They were just jealous!

You say your goodbyes and continue along your Fruit Loop until you finally complete a full lap and return to your Gay Posse. Rice Queen quickly pulls you over to him and informs you that your blog fan actually had no idea who you were because he mistook you for Andy Towle, who, of course, you are insanely jealous of both him and his wildly successful blog. 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 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...