Following the emotional roller coaster of Friday, I was ready for some fun! And, thankfully, Saturday delivered!
The day started early with The Burner Lab Meet & Greet. I’d booked The Delancey’s lush roof deck from noon til 5pm, complete with BBQ grill. Corona was on special and I held off as long as I could, until 1:15. From there it was beer after beer, a parade of bright-eyed newbies and enough grizzled veterans to answer all their eager questions. Kat and Jesse Green were running a crafty corner, letting people decorate leaves for NYC’s CORE tree. Oman, Cinemagirl and Nickname were manning — and womaning — the grill, serving up hot dogs and burgers. I was in such a great mood I was actually nice. To everyone. ALL DAY! I know! Not a smidge of snark! I was like the proverbial burner welcome wagon!
The event really picked up when the Rangers arrived, fresh from their Ranger Training. It was gonna be tough to leave! But I eventually did, with one hell of a buzz, bound for home and a quick change from my DPW Playa Restoration t-shirt (represent!) to a corset and suede high-heeled boots. I brought a PBR in the cab with me en route to Paddles and the memorial for The Hellfire’s eminence gris, Lenny Waller. The place was packed as friend after friend took the mic to reminisce about the man who was the glue that held New York City’s fetish community together for over two decades. He truly was a great humanitarian.
I ran into a lot of familiar faces, many of whom mentioned “the old guard” when they greeted me. Who’d’ve thought that I’d be considered a member of the old guard in a community that I found so late? It was great to see those old friends, people I used to see on almost a weekly basis and hadn’t seen in years. When Porno Jim wrapped up the homages, it was time for me to jump into another cab, headed back downtown.
When I got to my apartment, Douggie, Natasha and Dirtbag were already on my stoop, bags of beer in hand. Soon my apartment was full of folks prepping for the Animus Slumber Party. I stepped out of my high-heeled boots and into a pair of penguin feety pajamas. Numerous PBRs were consumed. Hilarity ensued. And then we tried to get into cabs. Hahahah!
Upon arrival at Santos Party House, we were dismayed to find a giant line. “I can’t stand outside in the rain,” I wailed, “I’m in feety pajamas!” And I was gonna work those feety pajamas! We pled our case with Squire, the party’s co-producer and weasled our way in. The joint was jumpin’ with pajama-clad revelers, some actually playing Spin-the-Bottle on the floor! The DJ on the decks when we showed up wasn’t my favorite but the guy who followed him had me. I was a feety flannel frenzy!
At about 3:30 I hit my wall, realizing that I’d been drinking for 14 straight hours. Not a bad showing, thankyouverymuch, but definitely time to go home. I bleerily hailed a cab and was soon happy to be in bed, sandwiched between my two foster dogs. Before getting into bed, however, I inexplicably found myself on my knees, praying. Yes, praying. I prayed for the strength to get through the summer and seeing my ex every day…for his happiness and my release from whatever sick, hypnotic spell I’ve been under for the past five years… (Because even today I’m still struggling with the stories, both Friday’s and one contained in a heartfelt email from yet another woman who was mesmerized by this man. What is it about narcissists?) Anyway, I called upon the universe — or anyone else who might’ve been listening — to give me a hand, show me the way and, eventually, help me to find love again. With someone who is capable of loving me back. Pray for me, too, won’t you?