A night with the gays.
I was emailing with Todd Levin, far far away in Vancouver for the summer, about whether it is better to have a gay man or a straight man admire your cleavage. He argued that in a way it is better to have a gay man do it, because they are "more scrutinizing about such things." I'm going to agree with him to a certain extent, only because a gay man will use the word "decolletage" to describe your cleavage instead of "nice rack." (Although there is a time and a place for "nice rack" too, I must admit.) That somehow makes it all so much more special, and that's exactly what happened on Friday night, when I attended Dante Woo's birthday party.

I must give props to Dante for making the effort to invite straight guys. He's very sensitive to his female friends. But it was to no avail, so instead I hung out with sweet, funny, well-styled boys, most of whom seemed to be on Friendster. In fact, Friendster seemed to be a hot topic of conversation throughout the night. These guys actually work Friendster, make friends, get dates, get laid off of it. I am sort of stymied by the site (I prefer to keep my dating limited to people I will never have to run into again at a friend's party should we break up, but I know it works a little differently in the gay community), so it was interesting to hear how popular it really is. I stayed for four hours and drank lots of wine and took lots of pictures. There was no scandal as far as I could tell, though I did see some flirting here and there, as it should be.

Later I took off for Arnaud's party at Drinkland, where the DJ was playing awesome music for the typically useless and horny East Village weekend crowd. For some reason I didn't mind the scene, I just stood in the corner for a bit and enjoyed the music. Finally I found Leighann and Helen. Everyone was in a funny mood. We stood outside and watched some cheesy girls draw attention to their ill-advised outfits which seemed more appropriate for the backstage of an Aerosmith show than the corner of 10th and B. (A short lycra skirt with multiple zippers awkwardly placed in an attempt at seduction stands out as a favorite.) I almost could have watched these girls all night, but I really needed to go home and go to sleep. Tomorrow I had the Belmont Stakes, and it was going to be a busy day.

A day with the straights.
I'm ashamed to say it, but I bet against Funny Cide, and I won, actually ended up breaking even for the day, after a disappointing loss on With Anticipation in the 10th race. He came in last. Last. Gretchen Susi and I picked him because we liked the name, and I guess that's what happens when you bet on a horse because his name sounds the most poetic of the competition.

Besides that and the oppressive cold and rainy weather, it was a fine day of drinking (my brother made mint juleps for 20 right before the 11th race) and shooting the shit and watching the horsies run. There were six sets of siblings in our group, and various loved ones as well. I found the number of siblings in attendance encouraging in a time when most families don't seem to get along very well.

I should also mention that at one point the announcer mentioned Michael Bloomberg was in attendance at the game, and the crowd spontaneously and immediately responded with loud booing. It might have been better to say Steven Spielberg's name instead. He's an infinitely more popular Jew.

Later we returned to Queens for a white-people-dancing-poorly party. We drank way too much, and then had breakfast burritos at 3 AM, and when I say breakfast burritos, I am not talking about some pre-packaged bullshit. Spiced sausage, fresh guac, hot tortillas, the whole nine. And warm blueberry muffins. Yum. I promptly passed out afterwards for a good half hour (Gretchen on the chair on my right, Jimmy Mulvihill on my left on the couch) until my brother called us all a car and kicked us out.

I came home after 5 AM and boy was my cat pissed. I had spent about two waking hours with him over the last two days, and here I was, coming in only to sleep again. I'm a bad mom, although I have always preferred to think of myself as the "fun aunt" anyway.

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