Needless to say, I've been spending a lot of time at home, lately.
The LGBT networking group at The Velvet Prison scored big when, as one of the lead sponsors of Lincoln Center's Midsummer Night Swing dance series, The Prison got a mess o' free tickets to the dance night celebrating Gay Pride.
Go Gays!
So I, in turn, scored tickets for myself, Topher and ChickenKurry to attend not just the dance on Lincoln Center's plaza, but also the private cocktail party on the portico overlooking the plaza.
Again, go Gays!
The day was mostly sunny with the occasional cloud, right up until the appointed time of our meeting, at which point the clouds rolled in and the skies opened up, with a nice, steady rain.
We arrived at Lincoln Center to find that our special passes gave us free access to the dance floor from 6:30 to 8 p.m., after which time we'd be admitted to the cocktail party. So, we could dance in the rain for an hour and half, or we could find something to do to entertain ourselves.
We went to eat.
As we went off to eat, of course, the rain cleared up, so we were able to enjoy a repast alfresco at Josephina, across the street from the Center.
Our meal, and the sunshine, lasted just long enough to kill the allotted time, and we hustled back to Lincoln Center as the skies darkened again.
Just in time, we hustled ourselves into Avery Fisher Hall and up to the portico. The rains commenced again, and didn't let up again until, as if on cue, it stopped when Lincoln Center's rent-a-cops gave us the boot at 10 p.m.
Despite the rain, there's just no way to adequately explain how much fun we had. There was free booze, there was great music – thankfully the DJ was covered and no one ended up being electrocuted – and we were surrounded all night by the professional gays of all the companies held by (and, metaphorically, in) The Velvet Prison.
And by professional gays, I don't mean "men who are professionally gay," but "gays who are professional men."
An important distinction.
So anyway, I got to network and meet a lot of lovely people, got liquored off my butt (who knew such a classy joint as Lincoln Center would serve such a cheap red wine?), and watched my friends get hit on almost from the moment we arrived.
No, seriously.
Not one, not two, but three different men approached me on the Q-T to ask, "So, your friend Topher. What's his deal, is he single?" The man literally held court. It was a thing of beauty. ChickenKurry "suffered" a similar fate.
Just Crazy.
And as if all the booze and well-intentioned debauchery weren't enough, when we booted onto the streets, we made a beeline for a local gay boozery.
It's been a wicked long time since I've been to a gay bar, and I have to go only occasionally to be reminded of why I loathe them so. I had a perfectly wretched drunk hetero chick slop the wine I was carrying back to Topher all over my favorite white shirt.
Still, there was something about this time that was different. I was there as a part of a really large group, none of whom were trying to pick up each other or others, so there was no pressure, and no end of conversation. It was really, really cool. Now I know why The Gays like to travel to gay bars in a gaggle.
In any case, I had a really good time, and it was about time I did so.
The only problem, of course, is that I woke up for work the next morning and my first thought was, "Oh crap. I think I'm still drunk."
I'm way too old for that crap.
The LGBT networking group at The Velvet Prison scored big when, as one of the lead sponsors of Lincoln Center's Midsummer Night Swing dance series, The Prison got a mess o' free tickets to the dance night celebrating Gay Pride.
Go Gays!
So I, in turn, scored tickets for myself, Topher and ChickenKurry to attend not just the dance on Lincoln Center's plaza, but also the private cocktail party on the portico overlooking the plaza.
Again, go Gays!
The day was mostly sunny with the occasional cloud, right up until the appointed time of our meeting, at which point the clouds rolled in and the skies opened up, with a nice, steady rain.
We arrived at Lincoln Center to find that our special passes gave us free access to the dance floor from 6:30 to 8 p.m., after which time we'd be admitted to the cocktail party. So, we could dance in the rain for an hour and half, or we could find something to do to entertain ourselves.
We went to eat.
As we went off to eat, of course, the rain cleared up, so we were able to enjoy a repast alfresco at Josephina, across the street from the Center.
Our meal, and the sunshine, lasted just long enough to kill the allotted time, and we hustled back to Lincoln Center as the skies darkened again.
Just in time, we hustled ourselves into Avery Fisher Hall and up to the portico. The rains commenced again, and didn't let up again until, as if on cue, it stopped when Lincoln Center's rent-a-cops gave us the boot at 10 p.m.Despite the rain, there's just no way to adequately explain how much fun we had. There was free booze, there was great music – thankfully the DJ was covered and no one ended up being electrocuted – and we were surrounded all night by the professional gays of all the companies held by (and, metaphorically, in) The Velvet Prison.
And by professional gays, I don't mean "men who are professionally gay," but "gays who are professional men."
An important distinction.
So anyway, I got to network and meet a lot of lovely people, got liquored off my butt (who knew such a classy joint as Lincoln Center would serve such a cheap red wine?), and watched my friends get hit on almost from the moment we arrived.
No, seriously.
Not one, not two, but three different men approached me on the Q-T to ask, "So, your friend Topher. What's his deal, is he single?" The man literally held court. It was a thing of beauty. ChickenKurry "suffered" a similar fate.
Just Crazy.
And as if all the booze and well-intentioned debauchery weren't enough, when we booted onto the streets, we made a beeline for a local gay boozery.
It's been a wicked long time since I've been to a gay bar, and I have to go only occasionally to be reminded of why I loathe them so. I had a perfectly wretched drunk hetero chick slop the wine I was carrying back to Topher all over my favorite white shirt.
Still, there was something about this time that was different. I was there as a part of a really large group, none of whom were trying to pick up each other or others, so there was no pressure, and no end of conversation. It was really, really cool. Now I know why The Gays like to travel to gay bars in a gaggle.
In any case, I had a really good time, and it was about time I did so.
The only problem, of course, is that I woke up for work the next morning and my first thought was, "Oh crap. I think I'm still drunk."
I'm way too old for that crap.
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