DC Weekend Recap: Tequila, Wigs, and Ron Jeremy

I got back from a weekend trip to DC yesterday but feel like I’ve been gone for weeks. It was one of those trips that kinda scrambles your brain, so that when you return home your first inclination is to turn on the news or read the paper because you feel out-of-touch with reality. Not that that’s a bad thing – I needed a weekend to unwind, and DC was certainly the best possible place to do it.

DC's a weird place. I lived there for two years and made some great friends who I miss. But it was also a tough time for me personally and professionally. So when I go back for a visit, it becomes a series of emotional highs and lows; a remembrance of some really great times and some things I’m getting past.

But enough of that mushy stuff. It was Christina’s surprise 30th birthday party at the Capitol Lounge on Friday (the Cap was my favorite hangout in DC, thanks to my friend Krista who tended bar and her Kick-Ass Lemonades. But since she moved to Denver in August I figured I'd probably never get back there so it was nice to reminisce) and Jeff’s 50th birthday party on Saturday. Both happenings gave me the chance to see virtually everybody I ever knew in DC, which was great. They were also great opportunities to drink. (Not that it needs to be said, but drinking was a major factor throughout the weekend.)

Let me back up a minute to point out that I sat next to Ron Jeremy while waiting for my flight Friday afternoon (see photo to the left). I fought the impulse to introduce myself to him, because, really, what would I say? I didn’t want to lie with a line like: “Hey Mr. Jeremy. I’m a huge fan!” or even: “You know, Mr. Jeremy, as a gay man you’re work has had a profound impact on me.” (Probably the first 4-5 pornos I’d seen as a kid prominently featured him and his, ummm, talent. It might have been funny to see his reaction to that.) Then I thought maybe I should get his autograph, and have him sign it to Dr. Ken or something. In the end I thought it best to just let him alone (and stealthily take his photo with my phone because if I was going to blog about it I needed physical evidence). Regardless, I decided this was going to be a good omen for the weekend.**

When we left Christina’s party around 11 on Friday night, I suggested to Phillip that we stop to get some food, since I’d been up since 5am, swam 3 miles, had only a banana to eat all day, and just drank 3 rum and cokes (and I wonder why I’m coughing up grey/purple phlegm on a frequent basis).

One of the things I hate about DC is that it is hard to find a place to grab a decent bite to eat after 9pm, at least in Capitol Hill. So I suggested we stop by our local 7-11. Phillip and I lived about a ½ mile from the one at 8th and Maryland NE and drove past it probably every day but remarkably he says to me: “For what? For food? I don’t think I’ve ever been in there.” And as I’m pointing out to him that I was in there, oh, probably one night each weekend for at least a year it occurs to me that more than any other store – more than our local Giant on Brentwood, more than the (un)Safeway on 14th St SE – I’ve been to the frickin’ 7-11 more times to buy food than a real supermarket. That’s a sobering realization.

Jeff’s party Saturday night was a blast, a blur of tequila shots with pineapple juice chasers (I don’t care what you say about them Mr. Surprise), some guy known only as Flawless, and Pablo’s wig getting passed around for photo opps (best not to ask too many questions about any of these things). Also, I’ve noticed when I have perhaps a little too much to drink I commandeer the stereo and become DJ. I played at least two Kylie songs (in tribute to Richard) and Madonna’s “Jump” (since I couldn’t dance to it as a Panda on Halloween like I really wanted to, this was the next best thing). I know what you’re thinking: “Kylie and Madonna at a gay party? I’m shocked!”

The rest of the weekend was good too, save the part where I got to the airport Monday morning for my 6:20 flight and realized I’d left my wallet back at the house and had to go back and get it, get back to the airport and wait until the 10:30 flight, which caused me to be 3 hours late for work. But that is another story entirely.

** or a bad omen. Because there’s really no logic in deciding that seeing an old, fat, disgusting porn star at the beginning of a trip should or could be construed as a good thing.