  And We're Back...Again... Well, I've been back in New York for six months. Amazing. Glorious. Nowhere else on Earth I'm supposed to be. Being in New Orleans gave me, if nothing else, that perspective. The transition was seamless, including getting a job within an hour of being home, so I've been living my life instead of writing about it. But last night, after a pretty groovy weekend, I kept getting the message over and over: are you writing?
So, okay...I'm writing. At least here. Saturday night at urlLink ViewBar (yeah, I'm a Chelsea bartender/manager...we'll talk about that later, okay? ) we had a big benefit that I brought into the bar, hosted and produced by my friend urlLink Will Clark . Lots of porn stars I didn't know (I'm not a big porn-watcher...for me it's like rolling the dessert cart by me, but telling me I can't have a slice), like Michael Lucas, Michael Brandon, the very tasty urlLink Bret Wolfe (who I might have made out with a little), the Jet Set Boys, and on and on. There were raffles and signings, the energy was great and friendly, the porn boys brought no attitude whatsoever, my co-bartender, Elroy, who I love working with on a regular night, kicked it into high gear and was a party all on his own. The whole night was a blast. Lots of friends came in all night long, Elroy and I made a LOT of money, and the entire night was a success. Even though I had to fire the barback at the end of the night (or maybe because ), it was one of my best nights there.
I had breakfast at the Venus, as usual, and got home about 7am, falling into a delicious sleep. Yesterday I was off. New for me, because I've usually had days off mid-week. But starting yesterday, Sunday and Monday. And since his husband was busy toiling in the urlLink Mamma Mia fields, Dr. John and I thought we'd go see the depressing new Olympia Dukakis/Parker Posey movie, "The Event" (which we'd had the after-party for at ViewBar). It was exactly what we'd wanted...funny, weepy, lots of good Olympia moments. Not a perfect movie, but still. After the movie we turned our phones back on and I had three messages, two from JonJordan inviting us to a party at urlLink Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman's loft. So Dr. John and I had a quick dinner at Food Bar and met JonJordan and his adorable husband Joe. And what a groovy party. Marc and Scott are such gracious and generous hosts. For an impromptu party (Genre Magazine is doing an article on them and wanted a typical evening at home with them, hence the party), it surely was catered and staffed. I didn't get the same bartender twice, and I went back for drinks many, many times. Many, many. We schmoozed with the Broadway boys and girls for a bit, but JonJordan and Joe were off to urlLink Avalon , which Dr. John and I weren't in the mood for, so we departed the loft (reluctantly...I mean, four bedroom, two baths, and a recording studio, for crissakes) and the doctor and I went off to Rambles at the Park.
The Park is a former parking garage transformed into one of the most unique restaurant/club spaces in Manhattan. On Sunday night urlLink Jonny McGovern hosts Rambles at The Park, a very hip, sexy party that flows through three levels of music and boys, with an expansive courtyard and a great rooftop deck featuring a hot tub (and naked boys soaking). My Tuesday night DJ, Nita Aviance, usually spins the party, but Nita was spinning in the East Village last night.
DJ Jon Jon Battles was there though, showering Dr. John and me with drink tickets and Dannii Minogue cds. We fought our way to the very crowded bar, which became totally worth it when a new friend of mine, who also happens to be the author of a hit new Broadway play, returned to his roots as a very sexy go-go boy and started shakin' it on the bar in his overalls. He got lots of our dollar bills. We rambled through the Rambles for awhile, but it was SO crowded and we were out of drink tickets, so we hopped in a cab and flew across town to The Slide, where my roomie, DJ Aaron Elvis was spinning SuperSized Sundays (referring to the drinks).
Aaron was shocked to see us, but forked over, say it with me: many drink tickets . There was a marathon drag show going on, including my friend Paprika Swirl, and the crowd was full of friends and customers. The coolest thing about managing and tending bar in Chelsea is, as it was in New Orleans, a lot of people know you and so no matter where you go there's someone fun to goof off with.
Anyway, the Good Doctor and I embibed mightily, chatted and flirted (and possibly made out) with various boys, got snaps on our ensembles from Beyonce's stylist, Todd, and laughed our asses off until we realized it was just time to stop drinking and go home. I dropped John off at 81st Street and took the cab home. I slept late late today. Gonna catch up with JonJordan and Joe later. But as I was walking Dex today down Convent Avenue underneath those old London Plane trees, with the Autumn sun taking the edge off the cool air, both of us happy to be out together, and me not nearly as hung over as I should be, I realized that I'm not just happy to be home. It's right to be home. 
