Let me start off my saying that I am the one in the yellow sweater. I replaced my face with Beyonce’s because I have never in my life seen a more unflattering photo of myself. I look like a homeless man emerging from the subway tunnels at first thaw, after a long winter of anorexia, meandering in my own filth, and casual butt sex with stray dogs. I don’t know if its just me, but I haven’t been drinking as much in 2013. I have taken this time to reflect, work on projects, and hibernate in my bedroom, which is as much of a man-cave as it can be with a chain chandelier and 30 color coordinated cushions. Regardless, this means what when I do go, I go hard. So this Sunday Funday brunch extravaganza lasted no less than 9 hours. In no particular order, here is what went down:
We started brunching at Pier 9, which is a hit-or-miss brunch hotspot in HK. Its a hit because some of the staff, like the hostess and one particularly charming foreign server that resembles Mr. Bean are awesome and super accommodating. Miss, because they often get your food wrong, or run out of champagne and have to serve Sangria (Red wine does nothing but piss me off). Hit because the manager always makes up for any service issues we have. (sidebar: I am pretty sure our actual server was a Russian prositute).
Anyway, I was still drunk from the night before, so it was pretty easy to get my buzz back. I noticed a friend of mine across the restaurant, but rather than get up to say hello, I sent him photos of my nipples, and the nipples of the girl next to me. Jmo spent the entire time talking about how flawless his skin was. I was sitting across from a Puerto Rican tranny, near a girl who didn’t realize she was at a gay brunch, and some rando Colombian guy who kept grabbing Nadia’s justies (we call her boob’s justies, because a handful of tit is “just enough”). We ended up getting a random birthday cake platter even though it wasn’t anyone’s bday and more than enough mimosas and glasses of sangria to tranquilize a horse. Then we went to the new Boxers in HK, where I pondered whether or not my attraction to gingers is due to some kind of vitamin deficiency (I saw a redhead there that was so gingery his eyelashes were translucent- so hot). Then we went back to JMO and Nadia’s new apartment, where we were surprised by some interesting characters- a pair of twinky young vampire-looking creatures that were clearly “awake” if you know what I mean. In case you don’t, I will just just say that it was snowing wherever they came from. Meaning that they were hanging out with a white girl.
Cocaine. Just cocaine, okay?
I will say the best line of the night came when I told one of them (who was randomly washing his hair) that I loved the towel on his head. Without missing a beat, he said: “Its Chanel.” Well played.
Apparently the other one took that compliment to heart and wore a bedsheet on his head under a cop’s hat for the rest of the evening, wherein they kept wandering in the room and saying random things that didn’t serve much of a purpose other than to make me super paranoid that they were going to snap and try and murder us. At one point I dropped a big steaming ball of reality on Emsy’s head and said : “Your sweater is horrible, take it off”. Which she did, along with her bra. In ironic news that sweater looked great on me, so I have a new addition to my wardrobe. Emsy and I bundled up and hung out the window to people watch, we played CatchPhrase, we drank another handle of vodka, and every time I looked around, I imagined we were in a shoot for Nylon Magazine because everyone looked so fucking cutesy and stylish. It was one of those Sundays where just sitting around laughing with each other was all we needed to have a blast.
More than once someone said : “This feels like summer all over again” which is a great thing because we went so hard this summer, and a bad thing because we still have a few more months before we can do it again. Still, it was a nice reminder of how far I have come and how many people in this world care about me. It was like a family reunion that got soaked in a vodka and champagne thunderstorm and inundated with hispanic trannies.
Well played, Sunday. Well played.
Here is the actual photo, just in case you actually thought me and Beyonce were the same person. (a mistake lots of people make).
Before shi
