a moment of silence for my shirt—r.i.p.
i’ve been awake for 33 hours, so please bear with me. darian has an excellent recap of the weekend… it’s amazing—even when i don’t really try to have wild nights out, they just sorta find me. still recovering from .popstarz on friday, on sunday we hit qboy marcos’ 25th birthday party.
i put on my amazing party shirt [shown in the photo above], and trekked down to bar equal with darian and .gregiño. within minutes of arriving, marcos’ otherwise lovely friends started insulting my shirt, then mocking my shirt, finally ripping it off me and dramatically throwing it into the street. it whimpered quietly as bus after bus ran it over.
i washed down my woes with a few absinthe cocktails. absinthe + peach archers + cranberry = a lovely sunday afternoon. marcos was in true form, shmoozing, introducing, and busting his moves whilst his mates mingled and mixed [on the decks]. after a few months of being antisocial not wanting to make new friends, i actually made an effort to meet, greet and make smalltalk with the peeps there. hermit eric is no more!
trekked to marcos’ to engage in a drug-fuelled orgy chill out for a few hours, before heading to .heaven for manny’s new sunday night, roast. being the club connoisseur that i am, i advised manny that there is definitely room for another sunday club night in london… it’s just a question of appropriate pricing, and proper promotion. sadly, the club was emptier than i’ve ever seen it, but i’m positive that it will pick up. speaking of pick up, the club was so empty that two barmen hit on me. two!
left .heaven to join darian, marcos and crew at .ghetto. en route i pulled met this lovely canadian lad drew. stumbling down the stairs of .ghetto, i ran into mikey, the mysterious goateed bloke from friday. turns out that, in addition to getting me drunk he also deejays at .heaven and .popstarz, and [surprise surprise] he’s seen me around. beautiful words.
as is usual at .ghetto, i always end up chatting with whatever c-list or z-list celebs happen to be doing coke in the toilets chilling out. last night it was that funny popworld lad, simon amstell. the whole time we were chatting he had that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. this means either [1] he was hypnotized by my delicious blue eyes, [2] he was paralyzed with fear, [3] he was coked out of his tree like everyone else, or some combination of the above.
7am and i hear some strange beeping noise—someone’s mobile. i wake up in a very dark room [not my own] and see several very large dollhouses—like, 4 feet tall, 6 feet wide dollhouses. laying next to me is kristian, this hunky blonde-hair grey-eyed german lad. he’s got the muscles, he’s got the square jaw, he’s got… i don’t even need to go there. we go at it once more before i tiptoe away, stepping out of his flat into the chilly pre-dawn fog. walking through soho, across chinatown and into leicester square just as the sun comes up.
