Here I Go Again

I'm sorry if you don't have a fun gay couple to do stuff with.  For now, you can live vicariously through my hag hijinks.  My FGC took me to see Hall & Oates last week at The Breakers.  It was pretty much a private show and they were playing just for me.  You know I sang the words to every single song.  Except for some weird new stuff because I am not a loser. 

My dates looked amazing, and no one quite knew what to make of our little trio as we sat down for dinner in a room full of captains of industry and other tycoon types.  After dinner, we had to listen to some stuffed shirts talk about how much they love their company, and then THEY came on.  We stayed in our seats for about three minutes.  Luckily we had the foresight to bring in drinks ahead of time (doubles for efficiency), and the three drinks cost a mere $100.  After finishing my drink, I decided I needed to be as close to being onstage as my good sense/outfit allowed.  One of my boyfriends said that John was making eyes at me.  He was.  But it may have been because I was eye-level with him and he was trying to signal security.  (Seriously, why couldn't Daryl let John be higher in this pic??  So messed up!) 

Hall & Oates weren't into playing for a lame crowd of thirty people, so they cut their set short.  According to the setlist that I grabbed, they were going to play "Private Eyes," but didn't feel like it.  One boyfriend fought for one of Daryl's picks for me.  I was kind of disappointed because my Philly friends were definitely expecting me to make out with someone from the band.  (And just so you know, I am not a groupie.  I take my amateur music critic status very seriously, and I would never compromise my judgmental objectivity by making out with the moody guitarists that I love so much.)  My FGC and I walked down The  Breakers' looooong driveway and set out to find fun on a Tuesday night in Palm Beach.

We ran into some older ladies in high-waisted white jeans and lavendar cashmere sweaters who took my gays away to the dancefloor.  Finally, half of MGC noticed that I was sulking because no one was paying attention to me, and he asked if he could fetch any boys for me.  I pointed out a tall guy across the room and he returned with him in tow.  See?  Fun!  Efficient.  I decided it was a good idea to make out with this guy in the parking lot.  On the trunk of his hubcapless Crown Vic.  The fact that I went from eating lobster with airline owners, to making out on a junker in an exclusive enclave of bajillionaires, was very amusing to me.  And maybe I should be looking for more than amusement?  (*Archly raises eyebrow.*  Which I can't do, but you can picture it.) 

What was even more amusing was that my outfit gave him no point of entry.  He wasn't foolish enough to try to pull down the top of my pantsuit, but the belt, hidden snap and zipper were too much for him to negotiate and he finally gave up after I had fulfilled my low-budget Tawny Kitaen fantasy.  Again, amusing. 

Okay, I'm back on the Nyquil so I have to go to bed.