i am, quite obviously, a winner.

why? hello—obvious! okay, here’s a hint. it’s 515am on a friday night, and i’m typing at my weblog, explaining my moral victories. that’s why i’m a winner.

surely, shirley, i am quite intoxicated. but, aside from my finger tripping over themselves, i’m able to communicate quite well. perhaps that is one of my biggest flaws… it is impossible to convince anyone that i’m drunk or that i’ve had enough to drink. ask anyone.

so, yeah. dinner at a new restaurant, blu with marky, which was fantabulous. then, met up with canadian mitch, cutie darian, .gregiño and even blythe at .popstarz. oh, and there was the special guest of simon the biter, which was spectabulous.

spent the first part of the evening snogging a very fit friend of blythes, but, eventually luke stepped in for the kill, and, then, eventually, darian took him home. and the bastard has a boyfriend! how rude!

i spent the last, maybe two hours with this lovely lad… taller than me, pakistani, fauxhawk with red tips. skinny and smiley. we both played hard to get for the first hour, then gave into our carnal desires. snogging and dancing and holding hands. very nice.

then we went out onto the naughty balcony, where we orchestrated a perverse threesome with a cute but old hairy man who smalled of sausage. bigtime. after a few moments of that, i relayed to red-haired pakistani boy, umm, i’m pretty sure we’ll have more fun on our own and then i dragged him away.

but, after 20 minutes of struggle, he kept going back for more. and, although i’m positive he would’ve listened to me if i insisted, in the end i decided to just ditch him and teach him a lesson.

so, he’s alone [or maybe with sausage man], and i am most certainly alone. i feel victorious, though, as i taught someone a valuable lesson and am having some peach & maracuya yogurt.

i am, quite obviously, a winner.

cabaret voltaire

yesterday afternoon was the beginning of summer. sure, there are no leaves on the trees, and, sure, it’s still march. what i mean, is that i started to get the feelings, the ambitions, the smirk that i had all last summer… in the months before i started bloghserf, i enjoyed myself like i’ve never enjoyed myself before. even after living in los angeles and san francisco, i had never really had lots of gay friends before. i had never really dated for the sake of dating. and, i had never subjected myself to the [so-called] gay scene before last summer in london. most importantly, i had found great friends—candian mark, cousin michael and .gregiño—to share it with.

so, as i wrapped up work, i started to get a nervous tickle. i hopped on the tube and headed into soho, basking in the summer sun, enjoying the summer breze, and wearing my summer smirk as i met up with atif. his plan was to just have a drink or two, some dinner, and then go home, since he was still in his work shirt and tie, and is currently staying at his parents.

we started off at village, as it was too early to go anywhere else, where we stared in awe at the delicious bar staff. every single bartender there is straight outta a bel ami video. they’re as smart as a pile of bricks, though… if you say 3-syllable words or 6-word sentences, they stare back, blankly:

hi, can i have a pitcher of long-island iced tea, please
     ehhhh… ehhh…. wha?
ummm… can i have a jug of long-island iced tea?
     ehhhh… you wan… ehhh?
cocktail. long-island iced tea. here, on the menu, see?
     ehhhh…. i get my manager…
and so on.

one of my biggest pet peeves next to codependent instant-messaging is codependent callers. people who don’t leave voice mail messages. people who leave voice mail messages of them hanging up. people who block their number. people who repeatedly call me and then hang up. it irks me and boils my blood. last night my boss kept ringing me, first while i was at village and then later all throughout my dinner at satsuma. each time, i’d pick up and wouldn’t hear anything, or i’d have really bad reception, or he’d hang up. half of it was undoubtedly technical difficulties, but the other half was just obsessive, and put me in an incredibly foul mood, stressed out.

but my stress, and atif’s plans were quickly washed away at friendly society, where we enjoyed the company of irish john, polish zubrowka, english charlie and canadian mitch. i’m starting to get the impression that my soon-to-be flatmate mitch fancies me. but, then again, i usually assume that pretty much everyone fancies me.

after a few hours at friendly, we decided to go laugh at the horribly long queue outside .ghetto for nag nag nag. why do people always look so unhappy whilst queuing? it’s the same concept as people mulling around at airports or waiting for the plane doors to open after taxiing to the gate.

we weren’t laughing that queuing punters because we felt superior to them for being able to sneak in on the guestlist… we were laughing because who would ever imagine that people would queue for the .ghetto of all places? it would be like screaming with delight after enjoying a packet of crisps, or orgasming over an episode of the golden girls… the .ghetto is a simple trashy pleasure that—while being incredibly enjoyable— is nothing special, ya know?

i woke up this afternoon morning… before even opening my eyes, i let out a deep, raspy groan/cough. i was naked. on top of the covers. next to me was an empty can of salt & vinegar pringles. crumbled, all over my bed, and on the floor, and stuck to various nooks and crannies on my body, were pieces of the very same pringles. a big stodgey meal, two big cappucinos, some paracetamol and a few liters of water haven’t sorted me out.

yup, feels like summer!

a little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king. —emily dickinson no. 1333

wowza. now that’s a proper night out. after a few weeks of deadlines with work, i needed to have a proper night out. socially, mentally, physically.

tomas is visiting from sweden, so mark and i took him on a quick pub crawl around soho. am i getting old or are the gay bars in soho just becoming uncomfortably noisy? it was nearly impossible to have a conversation at ku bar or g-a-y bar, but [as always] friendly society was a welcome respite. met up with andrew and flatmate mitch as well as the fantabulous manny before heading off to .heaven for some proper saturday night clubbing.

the great joy of living in a big city like london is when you go to a megaclub on a saturday night, you can know—with certainty—that you are enjoying the best music with the best crowd in the best atmosphere on the planet. i’m not saying that .heaven is all that great, i’m just saying that it’s all relative. what i wouldn’t give for a proper large capacity club with a proper sound system and great atmostphere in san francisco, say. even a dreadfully poor night out in london beats clubbing just about anywhere in the usa, hands-down. fer real.

kicked it in the departure lounge for most of the evening… great fun, and certainly wowed first-timers tomas and mitch. the bar is so wonderfully laid out, conducive to shmoozing with the glitterati of london, and pleasantly chill, but certainly not a proper vip room, for chrissakes—i mean, they let [fabulous and faux-celebrity] me and my [fabulous non-celebrity] friends in all the time. it is what it is, and last night it was just the perfect place for eric to be boozy and cruisy. john was there [i unloaded my usual barrage of apologies for not calling him, etc] and i did my damnedest to get a snog. he wouldn’t have it though, the cheeky bastard.

manchester rory was there, though, and i have to say that i enjoyed some quite delicious snogs with him… the boy may be a scene queen and player extraordinaire [pot—kettle—black, i know], but the boy is the best kisser i’ve experienced in a while. like, wow, man… wow. i tell him, umm, you know i fancy you, right? and he’s like, yeah, and i fancy you too [gestures to crotch], why don’t you meet me at .heaven on monday?

i mean, c’mon. how about maybe a coffee? or, maybe you come home with me? or something besides another hot/steamy/tawdry/embarassing snog session in the middle of the dancefloor? maybe?

with little convincing, andrew, mark, tomas and i trucked over to beyond for some after-hours insanity. i danced non-stop from the time we arrived until when we left at 9am. it felt so incredibly good to just relax my muscles [aherm] and work out all the kinks and spinal deformities i’ve acquired in the past few weeks hunched over my computer.

ran into a few familiar faces, one whose name i can’t mention since he swore me to secrecy [his boyfriend didn't know he was out]. it was fun/surprising to see him there, though, because [1] he’s clean cut/drug-free/innocent, [2] i fancy him and [3] he’s surprisingly stunning with his shirt off. a boring blind item, i know, but it’s fun for me.

why did the music stop?
are you moving in slow-motion?
umm, you know you’re not actually dancing, right?