Yesterday was my birthday and with my roommate's
encouragement, I hastily arranged some happy hour fun at Therapy Bar in midtown.
I had a nice turnout, a good cross-section of people I know and mostly never
get to see. As any gay party invariably does, it divided quickly into two
groups: those asking who my hot friend was and the hot friend in question.
Granted, there is always a fair amount of overlap in those situations (hot
people asking about other hot people), which is commonly known as a hook-up.
Although I don’t think there were any successful hook-ups at my birthday this
year. You know me, always keeping the sexual temperature somewhere near a
faint simmer.
 |
| Me and Adam Sank. Turning up the sexual heat! |
Birthday parties are the worst kinds of parties because most
of the time you go but the only person you know is the object of the party. And the same is true for everyone else there. So mostly you all spend the evening
standing around not talking to the one person you came to talk to and milling
around among a cluster of other people with the same mixture of irritation and
disappointment on their faces. Not fun.
