VIP Nonsense

My good friend Edlyn - she of the naturally optimistic outlook on life and perpetually singsongy cadence - somehow got me to agree to attend San Francisco's first annual Masquerotica event last night. The conversation went something like this:

- "AJ! What are you doing tomorrow night?"
- "Whatever it is, I hope to not be sitting and staring into space. Like I am now."
- "Come to Masquerotica with me and my boyfriend! I'll get you a VIP ticket and you can pay me back."
- (internal monologue: Just do it, AJ. No regrets, remember? Live, pussy boy. Live!) "OK!"

Turns out "VIP" meant shelling over $120 plus a surcharge fee in exchange for such extravagances as a special coat check, meet-and-greet with the fetish masters, nonexistent light food fare, and two drink coupons that gained me access to the least satisfying vodka cranberries I've ever chugged. Basically, $65 over the standard ticket price = a shot of liquor.

But it wasn't all bad! The whole thing positively oozed an intense Halloween atmosphere, and I couldn't help but think, as I watched two bound Asian women struggle to balance lit candles both in their mouths and in the delicate pocket that the smalls of their backs created, that if my mom could see me now, she'd quite literally shit her pants.

Lots of costumes were funny in a that-person-is-so-fat-and-hairy-he-should-really-have-more-on kind of way, while others were super elaborate. I also got a kick out of a humongous bed that comfortably fit thirty lounging people, plus a few waiters who crawled around feeding everyone strawberries and chocolate. I know, I know, it kinda just sounds like one big disgusting sex orgy, but the lights were actually turned up pretty bright and the decor was colorful and festive, and it really came across as more of a PG-13 porn bash than anything truly hardcore.

Plus there was the dance hall that seemed exclusively devoted to gay men in jockstraps and football pants (I'm sure those pants have a more technical name), but all that happened there was my deciding I needed to leave. Something about so many gays all hopped up and dressed in the same slutty costume makes me feel straight-up empty inside. I ditched out on Edlyn and her BF and managed to hail a cab pretty quickly - an act that always temporarily renders my life quite adult-like in a Sex and the City kind of way.

The cabbie was from Russia (I think), smoked a cigarette as he careened through yellow/red lights, and kept asking me about "all the naked womens at the party." I told him I'm gay, and then we didn't talk much. Cathleen showed up back at our apartment around 1:45 and made me a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup, which I scarfed. And that was that.