Get Off on the Bus

Wherein a Pride weekend lesbian drive-by adventure is marred by cheap champagne


1:30-ISH A.M.

The Party Bus pulls up to the destination we've been looking forward to all night long: Misstress Formika's Area 10018 party at Speed/Shelter/whatever-the-hell-it's-called-now. It's pretty hopping, but slower than I expected for Pride weekend. Maybe everyone's saving their juice for Saturday and Sunday; as someone had said earlier, "If you're gay, you're 'sick' on Monday." I find Formika and all my old pals from the days when Starlight was called Velvet and the best party in New York was Foxy. Former Foxy regulars DJ Adam and Sherry Vine are there, along with Miss Guy and Amanda Lepore. I feel a little like Dorothy at the end of the yellow brick road. Formika shouts "C'mon!," forcefully yanks me over to the bar, and coerces me into doing another shot. Sherry sings while wearing a Summer-of-Love-y outfit, go-go boys show off their barely concealed throbbing penises, and drag queens galore gaze adoringly. Yes, Toto, there's no place like home.


FUCKING HELL, WHO'S KEEPING TRACK OF THE TIME ANYWAY?

The Party Bus will eat you alive. Only the strong survive. Fearless Leader does her usual head count—it feels like a bizarre version of a school trip. We've lost a few girls along the way, and head back downtown to Fontana's, our final destination, for a nightcap. The club is empty. Nicco and the girls head to the pool table. I try not to fall off of my bar stool. There's a promise of pizza, but I am not sure I could even manage to chew in my current state. Rose bids us farewell, and I soon follow.


11:15 A.M. SATURDAY

Oh, my head.


flylife@villagevoice.com

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