When I was a young boy, after watching some all-night marathon of Seinfeld, I have a very distinct memory of sitting beside the window of my bedroom in the house we had above an asian grocery store and making a wish.

"When I grow up, I want my life to be like that." Meaning, ofcourse, like Seinfeld.

That's the only explaination I have for the odd luck I have now. The only explaination.

Last night was the first rehearsal for the Gay Gotham Chorus, which I am now a part of. The group is great. I'm the youngest, with the next one above me being twenty-five. Being in a room with fifty queens was quite the experience, let me tell you. The words top, bottom, or anything derivative thereof were not to be spoken at the risk of inciting a riot of commentary. It was fun.

There were, actually, several cute guys. And I am indeed a whore, because post-first rehearsal, we all went out to a straight bar across the street (and they insisted that I get a drink, so someone bought me a margarita), and I had a fabulous time with them all, and afterward one of the choir members invited me to grab dinner, and what makes me a big silly slut is that last night was the first rehearsal and I've already slept with one of the members now.

Sigh. Maybe it should worry me.

But apparently June eighth we will be singing a version of Bethoven's mass in C with an additional choir and a full orchestra. But the place where we'll be singing it is what got me, and what has me floored. We will be singing this at Carnegie Hall. I died when they told me that. So anyone who has money in any shape and form, you better have your asses at this concert. Or fuck you all, bastards, I hope you rot and die. (but not if you come see me sing!)

While that is, indeed, very lucky and noteworthy, the thing I was referring to at the start of this entry is that while on my way home from spending the night at Choirboy's house, I inadvertantly picked up someone else on the subway. But it's almost one o'clock right now and we haven't fooled around, but that's because I'm typing up this entry in the computer lab at the New York Institute of Technology, which is where the second subway boy, who will be dubbed Costa Rica Boy (CRB), which is where he's from, goes to school. After we talked upon exiting at 59th street, he invited me to grab coffee, which he paid for (and Choirboy bought me dinner last night too), and then I offered to meet up with him after his class ended.

Which will be at two. In an hour. But since we were already in the college, instead of leaving I decided to wander around the hallways until someone walked by, and I told the student that I was doing a biology report for Mrs. Hoffart's class, but I couldn't find an open computer lab.

I'm so smooth. Like lubricated butter.

Ha. And people were worried I wouldn't survive in New York.

Entry last modified: April 17, 2006 at 1:39 pm.

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