Spill it gurl, spill it

I realize that everyone is probably over it and has moved on already...but me personally, I have finally recovered sufficiently and am now prepared to rehash Blarg Hop '07 in all the greasy detail it deserves. Well, kinda. I'm mostly gonna cheat and use a bunch of pictures, punctuated with some high and lowlights. Ready? Okay...

First things first...thanks be to Joe for hatching this harebrained scheme. Again. I only hope he quits smoking before the next Blarg Hop, to ensure that he may live to see a million more.

Joe My God? No...Joe YER God!

The masses of asses met up at Nowhere, which has long been and still remains one of my favorite bastions of East Village gayness. We had an impressive crowd, and thus there were many introductions, re-introductions, random gropes, coquettish glances, etcetera and so forth. We lamented the absence of our beloved Aaron, who was in France, and David, who was in Boston, and made French & Bostonian jokes to console ourselves. I was deeply pleased to finally meet one R.J. Keefe, who lent the evening it's only modicum of class and/or taste. Clearly, the rest of us are just drunken hookers. Thanks for tolerating us, R.J. Seriously.

Speaking of drunken hookers, here's a random booty shot, just to keep you interested...

Honest to Joe, I have no idea where this came from. It appeared on O's camera like dirty magic.

Lookit! All three of my future baby daddies in one picture! And you just know that two of them are plotting to get the third in the sack...mmmm hmmmm.

Once the ice was sufficiently broken and we had annoyed Nowhere's bartender quite enough, Joe rounded us up, and we shuffled toward The Phoenix. I prayed desperately along the way for the appearance of a gay basher or two...or ten, even. Our gigantic, burly queer posse woulda mopped up First Avenue with 'em. Alas, we were not accosted. Maybe next year.

The Phoenix was...well, The Phoenix. Best jukebox in Manhattan, hands down. Midway through our stay, it was clear that the booze was beginning to work its magic; our laughter got louder, our behavior slightly obnoxious, and the looks our group got from the other patrons started getting curious. It was there that this lovely gentleman...

...busted out his finest Scottish accent, in honor of Curly's Paddy parentage. It was hot.

Next was Dick's Bar. Hoo boy. Kids, I have spent time in some filthy, crappy dive bars in my time, which I'm sure is a surprise to no one. But I have to say that Dick's Bar is the grossest, saddest, most depressing gin joint I've ever set foot inside. No joke. Yikes. The dull grunginess and stench of desperation were perfectly (and horribly) offset by the hideously drunken, lurching presence of an aged former teen movie star whose name I shall not mention here. (You would shit if I told you who, seriously.) Thankfully, Senator Whispers provided comfort in the form of a bisexual back massage that almost made me pass out. Also, Curly and I both opted to pee in the stall in the boys room, rather than wait for the ladies terlit to open up. It was, like, totally subversive or something. Yeah.

Travis, Bobby, and The O make even Dick's Bar look good. Well....better, at least.

Bobby: I have the best boobies

Helen: No I have the best boobies!

Travis: She totally has the best boobies.

Helen: Neener neener, Travis loves me and my boobies better!

After the tragedy of Dick's, Tom, Curly and I opted for a well-advised pizza break. When we rejoined the party at Big Lug, thangs was gettin' crazy. The DJ was awesome, and we had all been, you know, drinking for awhile now, and there was some dancin', and...yeah. That place pretty well rules. Yay!

No, not Helen Reddy...Helen and Eddie. Duh!

Helen: Eric...dood... is that guy your boyfriend?

Eric the non-bear: No

Helen: Why the fuck not? I mean, have you seen him? Dang!

Chris and Jeff brought sexy back. Nice work, boys.

I think I may be mildly obsessed with Foxy. O found about 38 photos of him in his camera when I got done with it. Whoops?

From Big Lug, it was on to the Boiler Room, which was quite full, quite loud, and way fun. It was there that what is sure to be a long and beautiful romance began to bloom between two gay non-bloggers who shall remain nameless (but both of whom appear in these here photos somewhere...hmmmmm...) It was also there that the heinous stench in the bathroom almost broke my resolution not to puke on my coat. Sheezus. Spunk + urinal cakes = eeeeeew

I must note that during the walk between bars...I forget which ones...I absolutely accosted the lovely and talented Michael Hartney, for which I am not the least bit sorry, because he is a superstar and better get used to that shit. (We are Friendsters now, which is SO kick ass.) After the incident, Michael's self-appointed PR rep, Turtle, smoothed things over by feeding me from a tequila bottle he'd conveniently tucked into his pocket in case of just such an event. Turtle, you are my hero, wherever you are.

The only person with a bigger forehead than mine is the one who shaves his head. Awesome.

Anyway, Curly and I left the Boiler Room behind the boys, who had headed to The Cock before we'd finished our beers. (Yeah, pun intended there. Sorry, can't help myself.)

All I'm gonna say about The Cock is that it was a terrible waste of $10 apiece for my co-vadge and me. Literally wall-to-wall boys, most of whom were busy doing dirty stuff to one another. Good for them, not so much for us. We cut out of there post-haste and ducked into Urge, where we enjoyed some drinks and semi-quiet bonding time with Ivan and Bo. At some point, a dazed and bewildered O stumbled in the door, mumbling about dirty blogger action and fiddling with his zipper. That's my boy!

Finally, the boys departed, and Curly and I wandered over to Odessa to enjoy some girl talk and vast quantities of cheese. My digestive tract has yet to recover, but my heart is still warm from the experience.

And so it was that the two vaginas and their band of happy gays made it aaaaaaall the way through Blarg Hop II with vomit-free jackets. In its wake, there are many links to be added, and certainly many future drinks to be hastily slurped. Shouts out to Superdaddy and Tim, GGWoo, Habitat 67, Crash And Byrne, Manhattan Offender, New Gays Of Our Lives, Blabbeando, Chris Tuttle, and everyone else that I somehow failed to link in prior to now. Fabulous bitches, every one of you. Please comment or email me your link if I missed it.

We should do this every six months so as to include bars with outdoor patios, dontcha think? My liver should be fine by early September...Joe?