Is November 4th Too Late for a Halloween Blog?

Diary

It wouldn't have been a gay bar i was in Halloween night unless some silly homo held up the coat check queue fifteen minutes to strip down to shiny pink underwear adorned with a powdery pink, puffy bunny tail adhered to the rear and secured with suspenders.  He wouldn't've been a true homo either unless he capped the look with a bunny ear headband, plucked from his purse and prissily propped upon his head.  And, of course, it wouldn't've been New York unless he had thrashed about while stripping and digging around his bag, flinging elbows into my face and chest, forcing me to press backwards into the winding line packed into the tomb-like hallway behind me.

Shoshi tells me that here in New York people lose the boundaries of their personal bubble after a while.  I wonder if i could ever lose mine.  It just doesn't seem possible, even though i've already officially lost half of my winter accessories somewhere in Central Park by now.  Actually, she says 'you just get used to it'.  Again, i question whether this is a possibility for me.  I imagine the removal of my boundaries will require something a bit more than forgetfulness ('oops where'd my boundaries go?') or acclimation (i'm not, after all, just slipping into a pool here).  I imagine my boundaries will be sucked away by the wind-tunnels whipped up by the twenty or so trains that churn past headed uptown as i stand, sweating, waiting for one single, stupid train to stop by and finally take me downtown to my station so that i can almost wet myself between the station and home.  So while i'm happy to report that after nearly two months my spatial boundaries are hanging on strong, i can't help but wonder if i'm behind schedule.  Is it merely a matter of time before they desert me completely?  I really can't say, but i do hope they stick around although i also hope Shoshi's wrong that you're destined to leave New York in exasperation if your boundaries don't adapt.  I do love it here even if i can't relax as other New York gays can in bars with the elbow room and ambience of cans of vienna sausage.

So, i spent fifteen minutes in line, ten dollars at the door, and another fifteen minutes waiting for bunny boy to finish his not so quick change so i could check my bag.  All this to spend twenty minutes being jostled around in what seemed less like a crowd than a sea of sweat and appendages before desperately shoving my way through the crowd to escape.  To be fair though, i did get to enjoy the sight of three hard pricked porn stars dressed as demons bumping and grinding each other on a stage the size of a soap box, their erections peaking out of their waistbands, threatening an unexpected, though likely not unwelcome, moisturizing treatment to the tiny crowd salivating two feet beyond the 'stage'.  Add to this the sight of three guys getting serviced on the second floor landing and it's probably fair to say i got my money's worth though maybe it wasn't worth the wasted minutes of my life.

A lot of trouble could've been avoided had i not been carrying my bag.  And i wouldn't've been carrying my bag if i hadn't been stuck at work, or as i like to call it, my own private corner of Indian food hell, for the first part of the evening.  But i was and i had been, which is to say that work officially ruined my first New York Halloween not only because of my bag, but also since i didn't get to see the famous Village Halloween Parade.  Although, considering the steadfast and vigilant nature of my as yet to be compromised safety bubble, being stuck in a swarming crowd probably would've ruined my night anyhow.  I mean, even Shoshi, whose bubble is fully shrunk, recoiled in disgust when i suggested attending the parade.  'I'd rather die', is, i believe, what she said.