The Hotel Chelsea's Star Lounge
On Friday night, Minnie and I headed downtown to troll for men and honey I'm not the clubbing kind, but Ms Minnie insisted, so we went out for the night. I've heard a few of you question Minnie's sexuality, booboo, alls I can say is she's a straight woman trapped in a gay man's dress. She is completely into gay ghetto couture; she loves the gay bars, the West Village, and Mac makeup boys.
She always says masculine gay men are finger lickin' good, but as dull as boxes of hair, whereas queens never bluff. Any who, I was on the phone with Minnie until late Thursday night and she went on and on about Rick, a guy she met doing laundry. She said he was tall and lean, wore a fitted black T-shirt, chocolate riding boots, and vintage Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. Minnie empathized the jeans were tucked into the boots and that he had on fake bottom lashes, not the tops, and his forearms were freckled with purple glitter.
The derby queen told Minnie that Friday nights at Hotel Chelsea's Star Lounge was a queer must. We made our way to Chelsea, the new/old West Village, and I can say with some certainty that I am not into Chelsea queens. I call them butta boys, meaning they have everything but-a face. Don't get me wrong, there is some cuteness but not the flava my taste buds require. No matter the weather, Chelsea boys are in their local bars wearing tight jeans and a fitted fifty-dollar T-shirts. Stepford comes to mind. Chelsea boys go to the gym four to five times a week for the sole purpose of showing off their bodies for one night. I'm not hatin', lord knows my ass is getting big.
So, to the lounge we went and honey she was basement chic, cute, small, and crowed as hell. I went to the bar to get us drinks and when I turned around Miss Minnie was on the dance floor, surrounded by every gay guy not eligible for hookups, and I could see Minnie's hand in the air shaking her tambourine. Not her big ass, a real tambourine, and it must've rhythmically called out to every queer ear in listening distance.
To say the least, she had a good time and I met someone. I know what you are thinking, Swishy Pete met a cute Spanish man in bar and is about to make a big deal of it. I'm not, but he was so cute that we made out in the bar. The old whore is back! I'm a sucker for tall bearded Latinos. We'll see if he calls.
Have a fabulous Labor day!
Pete
