“You know, we say we want diversity, and then we get it, and we’re like, ‘Where’d all these drunk rednecks come from?’”-Foxy
Aah, the sweet smell of stale cigarettes, spilled beer, and body odor. As promised, my costume was a hit. Unfortunately, it involved 4″ heels. You would think I would know better. And parking was more cramped than I expected at noon on a Friday. So I hauled my cookies 1/4 mile in those damn boots, then back again at 9:30. And I couldn’t limp at night, cause God forbid some drunk asshole decide I had a chink in my super personae. So I stalked, bad ass face intact, all the way up College. And then I took off my boots and cried a little bit.
Fortunately, the damage wasn’t permanent, so Foxy and I ran all over the place on Saturday. We drank Liberally. We brought our own cocktails. I took pictures. We scored 4 free packs of cigarettes and the proceeded to smoke way too fucking much. We went to the Sky Bar, a fire escape at the top of an elevator on Battery Park. There was a bunch of liquor in a room, and two waiters and a bus boy. Now that I think about it, I think it might not have been entirely legal, and I’m trying to remember whether or not I used my debit card.
We met Jeff and Jim and Leland, and proceeded to 4 different gay bars with them through the course of the evening. We saw two drag shows, drank more cocktails and beer, and wondered where the hell all our money and cigarettes went. And we only paid one cover.
