Pools R Cool

I'd gotten a email (DJ Eskae), facebook (Christa Lite) & personal invitation (Zen) to the Bacardi b90x Aerobics Pool Party at the Waikiki Beach Marriott. I'm not very "party people I hope you're ready", but I knew if them 3 was gonna be there, it'd be chill.
I found one of the parking stalls at the zoo that doesn't have a meter, so I didn't have to worry about time. Hunched over the passenger seat, I smoked a few bowls, then walked the couple blocks to the hotel. I know it purty well 'cause if I ever go to Hula's & have to take a shit, I used to sneak out to the Marriott to use their bathrooms (doo-doo at a gay bar is a no-no). But now you need a hotel room key to enter the restrooms after a certain time, so I haven't gone to Hula's in a while.
I took the flight of steps off Kalakaua Ave upp to the pool area, but didn't see no one who looked like they live here. Was I gonna have to cut myself for getting it wrong and missing the party? I asked the bartender if had one nodda pool, and uncle said "da party stay on da mauka side".
As I walked toward the mountain, the music got louder and I could see another pool with dark people in it. Black folks even...Swimming! A rare, thus extremely good omen. Even had one sickening local braddah wit' Hello Kitty on his foot. I almost came & went, but decided to stay.
which legs're Lacy's?
I'd missed any giveaways or whatever sponsory-schwagginess there mighta been, but it there were still beach balls, boobs, botos & booties bouncing to DJ Nicky Savage, and my huzzbins from Nocturnal Sound Krew.


She wasn't there, but I could hear Ara's voice telling how my blog would be better with more photos. I ain't no partyyy pap, but didn't know what else to do with myself. With an anxiety attack coming on, I spent the first half hour I was there, forcing the nerve to say Hi, hiding behind my camera.
The architechs boiz perched themselves over by the hot tub, for a superb view of the festivities with the sun at their backs. Fitted was well represented by none other than the graceful yet gangsta, Bobby Filipino. (pictured seated below greeting someone I mistook for local renaissance man, DJ Jedi)
Pirate (not pilgrim) Jackie Mess was spreading FIFA fever like scurvy, with her fancy footwork. While supercw ever the most hostessy without boasting, kept spirits high with her dazzling smile, infectious energy & liquor hook-upps. (hiccupp!)
I took a couple pics of Zen: one because I seen him, and the other might look like a crotch shot, but I snapped it 'cause I like his suicide pact shoes. I don't wear Nike, but if I did, I'd get them ones.
I've never officially met Aly Gator. Sometimes I feel like I'm not peppy enough. I don't speak hipster, but maybe 90's 'alternative' might make sense: I feel like I'm KORN; and she's 311. Or how about R&B: she's Minnie Ripperton; and I'm Millie Jackson.

I don't know, but I run into Aly everywhere, even had one of her duets as my myspace song. When I seen her, I knew some merry mischief was about to ensue. Almost got J when I saw who was wrapped upp in this caper, but I caught it on video, and listening to the clip end with laughter just enamoured me with Aly even more, for some reason. So what if my huzzbins Mikey & Zen got her all wet? They still get me wet too, without my even asking, and they've never even laid a hand on me, either.


As the day went on, my high wore off, so I snuck back to my car for a couple puffs. I almost done it in the hotel stairway, but with my luck....NO! Back at the car, when I turned on the air con & flicked my Bic, it started raining. It was barely 5, and the flyer said they'd be there till 7. I considered digging out, but I was too high to drive now, so I went back.
The crowd had thinned, and I decided to take a dip. But I didn't have on sun-screen and I look pregnant, so I swam with my shirt on. That wasn't so bad, until I got out, and realized an old thin wet t-shirt is "NAGL" as the kids are wont to say.

I found a towel and headed to the bathroom. After ringing out my shirt and putting it back on, I wrapped the towel around myself like a shawl at first. That was too gay, felt like a salon smock, eww. So I just hung it over my shoulders, kinda jock-ish. Rocky-esque. Utch-bay.
At the table where I stashed my stuff, hung out a little with Davey Shindig. We talked about the girls he was looking at. I won't name them, but they're all the same size & shape.
Just as I was ready to slip out, I seen Zen by the Contrast 'tent', and knew I could'nt leave without saying Thanks & g'bye.
To my surprise, I wound upp talking to Contrast Magazine publisher Race Skelton & his copy editor/gf Mary for a while. Race was so funny. Cute to hear that he'd seen Shaka Talk, and I happened to have a DVD of season 1 in my pocket. I could tell he didn't know too many mahus, 'cause he was trying to be all PC about what he said. (At least he didn't talk all "Mary Fabulous O-nay Gurlfriend"...I woulda threw down or threw upp.) A little tipsy, he was nudging Mary to tell us about her "liberal media" ideas for the mag, and how she needed a gay boyfriend. I had to explain to her that I'm a drag queen, and that's where this conversation was coming from. Much of our talk led to our mutual friend Lyle, Race's partner in their clothing line Olde Ivory, and how cool he is. For our intro convo between me & Race, it was a perfect, awkward mutual admiration. Just the right note to excuse myself.
Plus, Landon Jumpoff had just showed upp, and I knew someone would yell rape if I stayed. Although I got to vicariously strip him and throw him in the pool via Aly (I'm still smiling:)), it was becoming too much. I'd swam, danced, lurked & leered enough for one day.