Recently, the question has been raised (again):
Is it Possible to know TOO MANY GAYS?
This time, the answer was "yes"
My tonsils had been removed just a week ago. Dad wanted to do it, said it's been awhile since he's been inside the mouth of someone under seventy and wanted to give it a shot.
I said "Fuck you father, you're a dentist. It hurts enough when I get my teeth cleaned!" I recalled the time getting them bleached in his office; hell, it's impossible to forget. I cant still hear my teeth screaming! It seems odd that my own father would forget that I am allergic to radiation.
The REAL doctor for the tonsilectomy used too much anesthetic for the procedure and didn't give me enough to bring down to Miami with which to recover. He said 500 ML of liquid hydrocodone would be plenty for my recovery, but upon waking after the surgery I found the bottle half empty! It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and my mother was at work. I couldn't bother her, and I felt rude waking my brother up to ask him if he had seen the other half of my prescription painkillers... so I ended up going without.
My roommate Nick sent me an invitation to a party via Facebook. One look at the guest list, and I think "fuck those faggots!". It was a "Back to School Pool Party" and I had more desire to see the cast of The View on a stripper pole together than I did to watch these twinky little fairies prance around a pool deck for four hours of my last free Friday afternoon. I RSVP with a polite "Maybe".
Nick messages me two hours later, telling me that I'm going to added as an administrator to the party and that I should invite people. "Uhh, Okay Nicky" I chirp as I accept the title and prepare to invite the School's football team. Upon closer inspection of the event, I learn that the party is being thrown at OUR APARTMENT. I groan so loud that my phantom tonsils hurt.
By Friday I was down to about three doses of painkillers, give or take an extra perkiset saved for a rainy day. Waking up after a twelve-hour coma-esque nap, Nick surprises me with good news: The party is postponed until Sunday. This is great.... Until Saturday night, when I wake up at 4am and realize that the little brown bottle of magic is finally at its end. The night turns into mourning as Will and Grace references, voices from Planet Unicorn, and gossip about Madonna's new tour terrorizes my brain. "Will I make it through this party?", "Will they think I'm not hip and tell their Daddy's to put a hit on me?", "Is there going to be unwanted sex in my bedroom?", "Am I going to commit a hate crime?...Is it a hate crime if I'm gay too?...Or is that domestic abuse?!
Nick convinces me to look at the possitive. Maybe I can get my hair styled, or someone will give me a massage... He makes appetizers that I can't eat and hands me the phone to give directions to one of his friends. The words don't come out clearly, the inside of my throat is essentially a chucky-doll of nerve endings. They ask me to repeat the directions... "Fruck Roff!" I gargle as I hand the phone back to Nick.
I camp-out, reading in a deck chair as the crowd begins to arrive. I find an attractive guy, but it turns out he simply lives in the building... with his wife... and was just out tanning on a whim (a pretty gay whim, in my opinion). Nick takes my book away and tells me not to be anti-social.
It becomes apparent that I'm not wearing enough bathing suits. In their own time, everyone at the party cat-walks out to the pool, puts down their sangria and strips off their first bathing suit to reveal some kind of banana hammock or another. Nick didn't take my phone, so I end up texting noteable quotes to my poor boyfriend back in New York City. NOTE: these are all very real quotes:
"Stop! I don't want to get these board shorts wet."
"Shut up! I broke a hundred pounds today... I feel like such a pig."
"Oh my God! I thought this was Presidente Light!"
"No, I'm a teacher. Are you a business major?"
"Nick, your bathing suit is see through! You're such a fag!"
"What's a bicep?"
"No! SPF means how much longer you can be out in the sun without getting burned. Like, if you normally get burned in 20 minutes, SPF 5 will keep you from getting burned for like, 100 minutes"
By the time my friend Ranier showed up the pool had turned a faded pinkish-brownish-color. Swimming was out for the day. "I'm not going in there" he said. He peeled off his outer bathing suit and again I felt alone. The highlight of the day was the massage he gave me. Unfortunately I had to reciprocate. It was in my best interest that I was unable to talk for the majority of the party. Instead, I worked Ranier's big black lumps to the best of my ability and tried to tune out the rest of the gawking crowd.
Judging by the quality of their hags, these homos were definitely C-list or below. My roommate dealt with his disappointment by drinking way too much sangria.
At one point I got too bored and sneezed some post-surgical blood into a Kleenex, purposefully leaving it beside my recliner in hopes that the event would surface on JuicyCampus.com
The party was to end at 4:00. Unfortunately, the South Beach Elite didn't arrive until 3:49. It turned out to be okay, since South Beach's Finest don't stay around one place for more than 30 minutes, and they most certainly DO NOT get their hair wet. The party was over by 5:00. I had the place cleaned and was napping by 6. Although the hosts thought the party a big ugly bust, the general review for our "Back to School, Butt-Buggger-Bash" was that the party was "FIERCE"
It wasn't until late Monday afternoon that I was able to obtain anymore pain killers, but the entire event has left me feeling raw and quite un-hip despite my current physical numbness.
On the bright side, the only queermo I made bleed was myself, and the only regret I have is that I didn't wash my sheets before taking my post-party nap.