Ain't nothin' yummier'n mushroom heads.
I love garlic mushrooms. Not least because their mouthfeel reminds me of cockheads.
Nearby, I noticed a couple of those "young brown boy-with-older Caucasian man" types - cousins to the controversial "ladies of the night" that ewik wrote about. I'm sure the one seated closest to me was in it for true love *cough*. But to add more frisson, presently one of the waiters came 'round with another skinny brown boy in tow, and introduced him to the white guy with a proud "Here he is, sir!" A flurry of cell phone numbers being exchanged ensued , as I smiled to myself. Whatever floats your boats, fellas. Everyone has their own story, indeed.
Took a quick leak before leaving and just had to take a picture of this sign:
"I saw the sign..."
Oh, yes, indeedy. People have lost more than their innocence in O-Bar.
And speaking of lost innocence, it was time to return to another place where I misspent mine.
At midnight, I was finally in BED. For the first time in a long, long while.
What to say, what to say, really? I have been a BEDhead since they first opened, but haven't been back since their first big renovation. Not surprisingly, the place looked strange yet oddly-familiar to me, like a Botoxed old flame I hadn't seen in a good long while.
It was darker and seemed smaller than I remembered. Or maybe, to paraphrase the great Norma Desmond:
Say it like an old-timey party queen.
Sniping aside, I have many happy, drunken memories of BED, the same way its current habitués will undoubtedly have theirs. The BED of my memories was no happier or "better" than theirs; it was just a different BED, that's all. The stage looked smaller than the one they had during the first renov, and there were three shirtless go-go boys who stood onstage looking lost and goofy when the DJ effed with them by playing an orchestral club number. I guess if they were meant to dance to soaring violins, they should've been issued leotards, eh.
I didn't know they cordoned off the second level. Some sort of VIPS-Only thing, or cost-cutting? This must be a regular thing, because the restroom with the famous aquarium was located upstairs. Now the restroom is tucked away at the dark far end of the floor. With a communal urinal trough. Nice touch there, Tony.
You must do something about the ladies, though. The john was so full I thought there was an orgy going on, and I pitied a little meek girl who seemed to be thinking twice about entering a roomful of pissing penises, gay or no gay. Also, the shyer boys were lining up four-deep for the ladies' urinal, so I basically pulled the female inside and shoved her firmly in front of the toilet door - much like placing garlic before vampires. Tough enough to be a girl when it comes to potty times. Even tougher when the john is unisex and one is a shy and retiring Pinay having to compete with pee-shy gay boys. In which case one shouldn't even be mingling with the BEDheads.
But I digress.
One of the solicitous crew got me my compli beer promptly - a welcome change from BED's previous "I'm-too-good-to-take-your-order-much-less-return-your-change" thugs. No doubt the lad was hoping I would finish the beer quickly and start ordering the next of what would be many rounds. I ensconced myself near the bar and scanned the ever-growing sea of faces. Some old and recognizable - there was Ronnie giving instructions to the staff, and another guy who was once a rival for a boy's affections (I won, btw, bully for me) - but most of them were new.
Someone was drinking Blue Curaçao and I smiled at the memory of having the same concoction at the late, lamented Blue Cafe and thinking "I love Blue Curaçao. It's like drinking Toilet Duck, but without all the fatal and messy side-effects."
"Hell, this shit is better'n Drano!"
I had to chuckle when I finally noticed a nice-looking, beefy guy surreptitiously making eye contact nearby. My, my, oh my. I'm an old warhorse and wasn't up for a trick, but stiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllllll...
I'm beginning to like this new, slender build - an unsought result of involuntary teetotaling, lack of sleep, an excess of stress, and insufficient nourishment. I actually just have three inches to go before I'm back to my college-age 27-inch waistline. Makes me have second thoughts about beefing up again and bringing sexy back next year.
Anyway, for some reason I was more interested in the three nerd-types surrounding me. I dunno. Whoever said that "Men don't make passes at boys who wear glasses" sure wasn't wearing his. There's just something about banging nerds with extreme prejudice that gives me a raging boner. Proper-looking boys are just so nice to sully in the sack. The meatier ones, well...nice to look at, nice to hold, they lie in bed, all dead and cold.
Guess who this dweeb* grew up to be?
(Answer at the end of this post)**
I stayed for a bit and might've seen some bloggers. I would be lying if I said I wasn't half-hoping to catch a glimpse of some. Peek-a-boo - don't think I saw you.
At any rate, BED started to fill up with one skank too many, so I decided it was Mission:Accomplished and headed out. On Nakpil, I saw a truck saying Rapid HIV Testing, and volunteers handing out fliers.
Signs of the times, eh?
And I didn't bump into anyone I knew as I trudged toward my car and took off into the dawn.
That was new.
An even lower form of life than the spod, found in much the same habitat as the former. though more prevailent on talker systems. Unlike spods, upon receiving the desired response to the question "Are you male or female?", dweebs will then engage upon a detailed description of themselves and how wonderful they are, often in the hopes of truly impressing the other with their "charm" and "wit". Nearly all dweebs are male, but very few actually live up to the image that they present. Dweebs, unfortunately, are often the cause of ill-will, and may well bring a bad reputation to the system in question. They are often, however, easy to wind up and can be the source of great mirth to the seasoned user. From the Computing Dictionary.
**Ryan Effin' Seacrest.