So. There is a new man in my life.
A new woman, that is: the sister of one of my really good friends. We met last night while my friend was visiting her here in NY. Since both her and I are fabulous and pretty damn good looking (I know, I toot my own horn way too much–you can toot it, too, if you really wanna 
) , we hit it off right away. We already have plans for gay-clubbing (hyphenation allowed, darling), coffee, and other stereotypical fag+hag activities.
On a sidenote — I was never a fan of the term “faghag”. it sounds ugly and degrading. Before you shit a brick– no, I am not a feminist, and no, I’m not some womans’ rights activist [I am, however, pro-choice and pro-gay marriage, for the record. as if you even thought of thinking otherwise]. I just do not see the aesthetics in the term fag hag, and don’t see why any girl would willing to take on such an unpretty title. Therefore, I wont use it to refer to girls who only hang out with me because of my sexual orientation/fabulosity.
Off the sidenote — before I could even meet my newfound BFF4L x a million, I had to get into the place where her and my friends were. Disguised as a bar, it was really the UES chapter of Pike, fraught with pretty girls looking to be fucked by frat-tastic dudes looking for pretty girls to fuck. This place was not obvi not my scene. I was coming from the mets game (…I know, i lost a lot of gay points last night), and I met up with my friends at the front of the line (my one friend and his sister were already inside). I was looking very cute in my t-shirt and jeans, but by no means did i appear fratty. regardless, I was told by the people I went to the game with that I’d be able to get into the bar without a problem.
Wrong.
At the door, B3 (big, _____, bouncer) politely notified me that, in dis club, there is “no tshirts”. Bitch, please. He clearly did not know who the fuck I am, and his 7 ft 450 lb frame positioned between me and my much needed cock(tails) was definitely not any position I enjoyed. I needed a plan to get past The Rock, but my sobriety meant I couldnt carry out my master plan: climbing in through the windows when the Big Kahuna was pre-occupied with all the pre-britney’s whining to get let inside. Imagine [four octaves higher]: “its my birthhhhdayyy let me in. lettttt her innnnn. Lauren just go in. GO IN. fuckk this. we dont have to listennn. come onnnn. we’re going in side. ahhhh wahhhh eeeee wahh wayyy wannn wahhha blah blah etc etc.” God, I had never been so happy to like dick in my life.
Except those times when the dick was really fucking nice. Then i was really happy. Anywho, King Kong let Princesses Bitch and Moan in after ten minutes of ear drum torture.
I really need to brush up on my pre-gaming strategy, which I guess just means I either forgot everything I learned from welcome week or I’m getting old. I’m not getting old. Thankfully, though, despite my lack of inebriation, instead of having to put my monkey skills to the test my rebellious intelligence made a much needed appearance. It told me, “get your friend’s shirt.” So, thats what i did. BORING, I know, but im a huge pussy [as in i love breaking the rules, but i get scared. again, pre-gaming would have fixed all of this--most likely in a very interesting way]. So, through the open windows, I had my drunk-ass friend take off his collared shirt and pass it to me. Dont get too excited. he had an undershirt on and even if he did not you probably wouldnt be that excited, anyway. Sorry, dear. I went around the corner, put it on, probably looked a bit ridic (we are not the same size) and proceeded to wait back in line for 15 minutes. Again I realized just how happy I was to be NOT into girls. good lord.
Bossman let me in with a quick glance of the ID and a headnod, and then I got to meeting up with my friends. I gave the shirt back, and noticed a least five other dudes without collared shirts. they were built, rather sexy, surrounded by twat, and most probably large douchebags. I totally understood why they were allowed in sans collared shirt. [actually there's no sarcasm there.]
so, said friend’s sister and I fell immediately into pretend straight-love. It made me so 
. Eventually, when it was time to go, we walked passed el Diablo and he noticed that I had my t-shirt on. “I ‘member e’ryone. i don’ forget people, man. now don’t even try and come back here.” BITCH. PLEASE. clearly, people need to start knowing just who the fuck I am.
