sorry for the shakiness/darkness of the last two video blogs. as i mentioned in said video bogs erm blogs, i’ve bought a super-fancy motion-dampening camera mount for my car [gratuitous, moi?!] but can’t figure out how to hook it all together. i’m working on it, so get off my back. punk.

anyway, i’m so incredibly excited about halloween. it’s been three years since i last properly celebrated halloween in america, and i am stoked. my last halloween was in 2002, in san francisco, as a hot cop erm officer of the fashion police.

i arrived on a friday afternoon, not having slept the night before or on the plane flight from london. i arrived into sfo, and in no time, i was having cocktails with hooman and stacy and jason… shortly after we were getting our fashion police costumes on at allison’s with tizzy and crew. shortly after that i was guzzling frozen cosmos outside the bar, and shortly after that i was sharing a beautiful sunrise [and subsequent holiday romance] with a lad named joel, at a fucking wicked seaside rave.

this time around, i’m equally excited, but don’t have a firm plan of action. i have probably one of the best costumes i’ve ever had [yes, even better than the well-endowed prince of 2001], tons of enthusiasm and vim and vigor, but (1) no partners in crime, (2) no party invites, (3) no excuses to go bar trawling.

there are numbers in my phone’s addressbook, of course, and there are messages in my myspace inbox, and buddies on my buddylists. i have that one friend visiting from london, and that one deejay friend from the radio, and that one model who wants to be in my magazine, and that ugly boy that i met a few weeks ago, and that friend of my roommate.

it’s not like i’m using them simply by asking them if they wanna go out partying with me, is it? or, inviting myself along to whatever halloween parties they might be going to? can they smell my desperation? does it show up on their caller id? is it flagged in their inbox?

sod it, maybe i’ll go out and paint the town pink on my own. w.w.e.b.d.? oh, hang on, i have a call…

i have a short attention span, and very easily become blasé about my life. money, travels, experiences, celebrities, insanity—extreme situations no longer impress me. this weekend, though, was one of the most outrageous i’ve ever experienced.

saturday 1148am—after 36 hours of clubbing thursday-to-friday, i woke up saturday to meet leeds joel, the loverly lad i’d met at europride in manchester back in august… we’ve fallen into a groovy sorta special friendship, where we meet up every few months for stimulating conversation, and conversational stimulation.

644pm—tiptoed into soho just after sundown, stumbling into trashy g-a-y to find the princesses dancing, and our favourite centerfold qboy marcos sloshed from some champers with his delightful pseudomum [and oh mi gawd it's eric bawgs fan #1], claire. he extends joel a warm uncirumcised knob handshake, and within moments cousin michael and rogerio stumble in, followed by mark.

742pm—after i bed farewell to joel, we run into ash and james, then atif and john within minutes. soho is buzzing, and there’s something magical in the autumn air.

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8pm—after a few detours, a pitstop for drinkies at a crappy sainsburys local, i remember the superpowers my friends have… mark can instantly get his bearings anywhere in london and find even the most obscure alleyways, whilst cousin michael can remove beer caps with his teeth. we descend into a swanky bar in clerkenwell for stuart’s flatmate dan’s going away party. all of dan’s cute friends were there, particularly tall skinny floppy moppy blonde model andrew. i met model andrew at a dinner party a few months back, where i would melt in my seat anytime he glanced my way. turns out we’re connected by two different shags, which means [by the transitive property] that we’re perfect for each other. i like your micky mouse sweatshirt, i tell him. oh, it’s really silly… it’s a child’s shirt he says. why don’t you take it off? as i run my finger down his belly. we both stand there, paralyzed. he looks down at my finger, up into my eyes, and then turns away. later, he asks for mark’s phone number [of course mark doesn't fancy him] and goes home with cousin michael. give. me. a. fucking. break. of course i wish both of my friends the very best luck in their romantic pursuits. bastards.

1109pm—mark and i arrive at .heaven, where we find massive queues outside, for their most famous night of the year. .heaven’s halloween floor show is world-renowned, and the 800 or so punters lined up at charing cross, and the 200 guestlist/vip wannabes obviously agree. with a surge of pride, we casually walk past both queues and straight into the club, and then the vip lounge. yes, i’m being pretentous. but, it felt good, dammit, good i say.

1116pm—with a quick trick or treat? to manny, we get some candy for the evening. midnight comes and goes, and as i swim around the club, i run into irish lee, manchester rory, hull john and all the usual characters. it is nice to feel cosy at home at one of the largest gay clubs in the world.

106am—the drugs kick in, i hang over the balcony, and the floorshow begins. this loud, throbbing, hectic electro thrash music starts blasting. everythings bathed in somehow-ultraviolet red light. strobes and smoke disorient the pulsating masses starting up at the stage. then, one-by-one, then two-by-two, then four-by-four, frighteningly evil, shockingly buff boys comes out, dressed in rubber pants, gas masks, fetish wear, creepy masks. it gets hotter, and louder, and by the end the stage is filled with two storeys of sexy, caged, writhing bondage freaks. happy halloween, indeed.

132am—as per my last few visits to .heaven, i run into tall, punk rawk 20yo brazilian wil, dressed as half-devil, half-angel. within moments, i’m devouring his delicious smile. we stumble behind some curtains, and spend the next hour attacking one another. we emerge shaking our heads in disbelief—not regret—but in disbelief of how fucking hot a snog can be.

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9am—after chilling out in the vip for a bit, i bid farewell to wil and the rest of my harem, and mark and i depart .heaven, meet atif and jump over to .beyond, which is having one last [???] party, after having been shut down a few months ago.

445am—we arrive at the club, and drag yana and her girlies in with us. the club is absolutely electric, everyone grinning with anticipation and people already starting to cosmically connect with one another. we chill out for a bit, before starting our routines… our rituals… getting us to that happy place that only exists at .beyond.

523am—the club is banging, and the dancefloor is pleasantly crowded with freaks of every flavor. tattooed muscle maries, old ladies with wigs, exotic straight girls with mocha bodies, raver boys, club kids, and everything inbetween. it’s magical, it’s unique, and for the first time ever, i realize that this is the place to be… that this is the studio 54 that people will be talking about ten years from now. the three of us smirk as it all turns upside down…

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7am—feeling completely out of body, i find myself seeing through people, i see the glowing necklaces of my friends floating around, i feel the dance floor turn into mashed potatoes. every song the deejay drops is one of mark-and-i’s personal anthems. i can’t stop, shiny disco balls… the vocal house envelops us like a hug from your chubby grandmother.

703am—the decadence, the things that happen inside .beyond are out of this world. the sex, the hugs, the drugs, the costumes, the situations, the conversations, the people passing out, the people flying around, the flesh, the smiles. it can’t last, you think, every time you go there. but it does, and it’s [mostly] problem free… somehow a 1000 people can spend 8 hours enjoying themselves, handing over all control of themselves to the masses. even as the strange halloween creatures on stilts prance around the dancefloor, sending the masses into euphoric paranoia.

759am—no words can be spoken, and the telepathy between us is our only link. the euphoria of hearing the absolute best music, surrounded by your best friends, friendly strangers, amazing lighting, after a dreadful week, on my favorite holiday… pure bliss. the lazerrrrrs hypnotize, the fireworks go off, the randoms say hello, eric, and eventually some house diva takes that stage and sings us into the morning.

1143am—i dance, i moan, i lather as i enjoy a pinprickling erotic shower. so what if it’s the drugs, that’s what they’re for, dammit! 16 hours of bliss come to an end as my head hits the pillow, vivid images of the evening bouncing inside my eyelids. three nights, six clubs, 24 hours of clubbing… i’m an addict, and i couldn’t care less.

shiny disco balls

thursday: dinner date with model joel, where i successfully circumnavigated the language barrier for several hours. the thing with foreigners [people who don't speak your language] is that, as obvious as this may sound, you need to remember that just because your broken-english conversation is quite simple, does not [necessarily] mean that they’re not intelligent. it just requires a bit of effort and patience to make chit-chat. thank god for my experiences living in germany. we had an amazing night… he’s romantic and passionate.

and a bit obsessive. after leaving friday morning, he proceeds to call me. at home. on my mobile. again. and again. from work. from his friend’s phone. sending text messages. and again. and again. the last voicemail saying something like, why you no fucking pick up your phone? i fucking call you four times and you no fucking pick up your phone. i am missing you baby. i send him a text message telling him to leave me alone.

friday evening was my new flatmate mitch’s flatwarming party. his friend dancer chris and my friends cousin michael, canadian mark, .gregiño, hiphop marcos and his mate michael, american zeke and a few other drifters managed to drink and dance, trash the house and have naughty sex in different rooms/configurations. how very predictable yet shocking all at the same time. greg’s magic punch certainly was partially to blame.

dancer chris has a stunningly perfect body, featuring perfectly toned muscles that i didn’t even know existed, and a very english [but giggly] personality. and, he’s sweet as punch. i managed to get a few hours sleep, crawling out of bed at 8am to clean and provide coffee and fresh baked goods [psyeah] for my guests, while chris snored slept away till the early afternoon. he’s very yummy [and normal!] and i think i might see him again. he’s mitch’s best friend, though, so there’s a potential conflict of interest.

saturday i met mark, atif, spikey james and greg at village for some drinkies before heading to manny’s goldmember party at .heaven. it was quite glam, and very pseudo-vip… free drinks, schmoozing with celebs and a chance for me to snog john, flirt excessively with tom, and even run into paul, who i met on my last trip to san francisco over halloween. after namedropping and schmoozing to some downtempo tunes in the departure lounge ala manny’s cute french deejay friend, i boogied euphorically for a few hours with the lads, succumbing to peer pressure and chemically enhancing my evening. met roger, a lovely american bloke visiting london on business. he, manny, mark and i trekked over to beyond for some afterhours naughtiness.

stayed from 4am till around 11am, dancing so much that i probably lost 10 pounds of fat and sweat. met a stunning english lad named johnnie only moments after entering, and stood motionless gurning at the lasers danced with him for a while before finding this gorgeous italian homeboy… thuggish, tough-looking amazing breakdancer, wearing a black bandana but with piercing blue eyes and a deliciously white smile. i’m not exaggerating when i’m saying we flirted with each other [by showing off our dance moves] for 3 hours before i went up and said hello.

eventually, around 6am while i was chatting up some skinny tall blonde skater boy named adam, i turn around to find noneother than model joel… he doesn’t question me snogging this boy, nor does he question why i hadn’t returned any of his [several dozen] calls from the past few days. he just hugs me, gives me a puppy-dog look and kisses me. my ego is on overload at this point, as bandana boy, english johnnie and skater adam look in dismay as i snog model joel. between the lasers, the thumping tunes, my exhaustion and the chemicals swimming through my veins, i’m just overwhelmed with delerium.

joel and i do some dirty dancing, the whole time i’m doing damage control with the three boys i was pulling. my friends just smile and shake their heads. i say goodbye to joel, and he invites me round for dinner later that evening. the boys and i leave around 11am, and grab some coffee [is that a euphamism for something...?]

eventually i make it home, and nap for a few hours until 6pm, and then head into soho to meet joel for coffee… he shows up over an hour late, and with 3 italian-speaking friends in tow, everyone ready to go out for another night of clubbing. i was thinking more along the lines of a home-cooked meal at joel’s followed by a cozy night in, so i begrudgingly tiptoe away while they’re not looking… not sure if it was a simple misunderstanding or if joel’s seeking revenge for me being [kinda sorta] mean to him this weekend.

when it rains, it pours. i need to clean my flat. i need to prioritize my black book. i need to detox. i need to sleep.