my big fat party weekend
Have I ever mentioned that I love to party on the weekends?
Well, in case I haven’t…I do sometimes like to indulge in a drink or two when that ol’ workweek is over!
I felt pretty tired on Friday after staying out too late on Thursday night, but I made it through the workday with the help of a little green tea and a lot of Red Bull. After work I went home and caught a nice two-hour nap. Love the Friday afternoon nap!
Around 9 p.m. I emerged from my coma and stopped by Sambuca to meet a couple married friends to down a quick gin & tonic or two and listen to some jazz. I couldn’t stay long because my friend who moved away last January was in town, and we had plans to get crazy-drunk at as many gay bars as possible.
There is no way I would be able to give you an accurate count of how many drinks I had Friday night. I don’t think I even want to provide a ballpark figure because you may come away with the impression that I drink too much. And that’s just simply not true…ahem.
So we were partying and drinking and hitting on many, many boys, and by 1:30 a.m. our alcohol-soaked asses ended up at this skanky little bar on Broadway. And after a full night of many shots and beers, what goes down better than…long island iced teas! Oh, sweet jesus. Now that I’ve had time to reflect on it, perhaps we shouldn’t have had those. Perhaps.
At closing time we went over to an acquaintance’s house for a post-bar cocktail, and by about 3 a.m. I had almost passed out on the couch. I closed my eyes for a minute, and when I opened them, I noticed that the two boys had gone into the bedroom and shut the door – nudge, nudge, wink, wink. And then BOOM - all of a sudden I was wide awake. And quite concerned that I might eventually hear some “sounds” coming from the bedroom. So in my ridiculously inebriated state I got up, put on my shoes, and bolted from the apartment. I really didn’t take time to think through the actual logistics of getting home at 3:30 a.m. I mean, I was miles from home. I wandered all the way back to the club where we had been earlier, all the while praying that an empty cab would happen to drive by. The streets were dead. I stood there drunkenly swaying back and forth for about ten minutes, and then out of nowhere a yellow cab pulled up to the curb! I didn’t even have to hail it. The driver must have sensed a damsel in distress. Thank you Duane (yeah, somehow through the alcoholic haze I managed to remember the cab driver’s name) wherever you are!
So I was able to drunkenly collapse in my own cozy bed and didn’t have to sleep on a nasty-ass couch with the sounds of two friends humping away in the next room. Nice.
I had a bit of a headache the next day so I kept a pretty low profile until late afternoon when I went to the gym to burn off a few of those empty calories from the night before. Sweating my ass off made me feel much better, and eventually I had recovered enough to hit my friend’s 30th birthday party at the swanky JW Marriott in Cherry Creek. She really did it up right – a big tent, waiters, amazing food, a huge cake from the best bakery in town, a DJ, and plenty of joints upstairs in the hotel room. Since my liver hurt, I stuck to small glasses of white wine and smoking sessions up in the room.
Then around 11 p.m. I was off to the most hopping Saturday night spot for gay boys (at least this month) in Denver. Pretty stereotypical – lots of loud dance music, fog machines, sweaty boys without their shirts, inappropriate groping, etc. Unfortunately, the closest I got to any action was getting felt up by the friends of my ex. And that just felt dirty. Hot, but dirty.
Yesterday was the AIDS Walk here in Denver, and I really meant to go. I honestly did. I’m all for supporting a charity by trudging a couple of miles in a fog after a hard-drinking weekend. But when I passed out early on Sunday morning I didn’t set my alarm, and I didn't wake up until noon. However, not being one to miss out on free food and booze, I did make it to a barbeque held at the home of a gay couple I’ve known for years. There was quite a diverse group of gay men present. I did meet one cutie who may have some potential, but I most definitely wasn’t at my best and brightest so I avoided any significant social interaction. I just kind of sulked in the corner and drank Coors Lights. In a sexy way.
And that was my weekend.
Needless to say, I didn’t find a cure for cancer or write the great American novel or anything, but I did have fun.
And everyone said turning 30 would slow me down.
Suckers!
Well, in case I haven’t…I do sometimes like to indulge in a drink or two when that ol’ workweek is over!
I felt pretty tired on Friday after staying out too late on Thursday night, but I made it through the workday with the help of a little green tea and a lot of Red Bull. After work I went home and caught a nice two-hour nap. Love the Friday afternoon nap!
Around 9 p.m. I emerged from my coma and stopped by Sambuca to meet a couple married friends to down a quick gin & tonic or two and listen to some jazz. I couldn’t stay long because my friend who moved away last January was in town, and we had plans to get crazy-drunk at as many gay bars as possible.
There is no way I would be able to give you an accurate count of how many drinks I had Friday night. I don’t think I even want to provide a ballpark figure because you may come away with the impression that I drink too much. And that’s just simply not true…ahem.
So we were partying and drinking and hitting on many, many boys, and by 1:30 a.m. our alcohol-soaked asses ended up at this skanky little bar on Broadway. And after a full night of many shots and beers, what goes down better than…long island iced teas! Oh, sweet jesus. Now that I’ve had time to reflect on it, perhaps we shouldn’t have had those. Perhaps.
At closing time we went over to an acquaintance’s house for a post-bar cocktail, and by about 3 a.m. I had almost passed out on the couch. I closed my eyes for a minute, and when I opened them, I noticed that the two boys had gone into the bedroom and shut the door – nudge, nudge, wink, wink. And then BOOM - all of a sudden I was wide awake. And quite concerned that I might eventually hear some “sounds” coming from the bedroom. So in my ridiculously inebriated state I got up, put on my shoes, and bolted from the apartment. I really didn’t take time to think through the actual logistics of getting home at 3:30 a.m. I mean, I was miles from home. I wandered all the way back to the club where we had been earlier, all the while praying that an empty cab would happen to drive by. The streets were dead. I stood there drunkenly swaying back and forth for about ten minutes, and then out of nowhere a yellow cab pulled up to the curb! I didn’t even have to hail it. The driver must have sensed a damsel in distress. Thank you Duane (yeah, somehow through the alcoholic haze I managed to remember the cab driver’s name) wherever you are!
So I was able to drunkenly collapse in my own cozy bed and didn’t have to sleep on a nasty-ass couch with the sounds of two friends humping away in the next room. Nice.
I had a bit of a headache the next day so I kept a pretty low profile until late afternoon when I went to the gym to burn off a few of those empty calories from the night before. Sweating my ass off made me feel much better, and eventually I had recovered enough to hit my friend’s 30th birthday party at the swanky JW Marriott in Cherry Creek. She really did it up right – a big tent, waiters, amazing food, a huge cake from the best bakery in town, a DJ, and plenty of joints upstairs in the hotel room. Since my liver hurt, I stuck to small glasses of white wine and smoking sessions up in the room.
Then around 11 p.m. I was off to the most hopping Saturday night spot for gay boys (at least this month) in Denver. Pretty stereotypical – lots of loud dance music, fog machines, sweaty boys without their shirts, inappropriate groping, etc. Unfortunately, the closest I got to any action was getting felt up by the friends of my ex. And that just felt dirty. Hot, but dirty.
Yesterday was the AIDS Walk here in Denver, and I really meant to go. I honestly did. I’m all for supporting a charity by trudging a couple of miles in a fog after a hard-drinking weekend. But when I passed out early on Sunday morning I didn’t set my alarm, and I didn't wake up until noon. However, not being one to miss out on free food and booze, I did make it to a barbeque held at the home of a gay couple I’ve known for years. There was quite a diverse group of gay men present. I did meet one cutie who may have some potential, but I most definitely wasn’t at my best and brightest so I avoided any significant social interaction. I just kind of sulked in the corner and drank Coors Lights. In a sexy way.
And that was my weekend.
Needless to say, I didn’t find a cure for cancer or write the great American novel or anything, but I did have fun.
And everyone said turning 30 would slow me down.
Suckers!
posted by denverco at 5:02 PM
1 Comments:
Oh, Matty. I'm tired just reading about your weekend.
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