Chelsea Girls

How about this heat. Bitch, it’s July! The air feels thicker than the metaphorical head of a stubborn Irishman. You know what “they” say: You can always tell an Irishman (cause we’re so cute) but you can’t tell him much.” Thick headed = Stubborn. Nothing to do with GIRTH as I’m sure was the innuendo. Anyway, it’s fucking hot outside. Whatever.

I did get to see the AbFab movie this afternoon in super queer Chelsea. Friend surprised me with tickets to a 3:15. Thought I’d have to wait til next week. I was over the moon. Haven’t been this tickled since the chains-n-feathers party on Fire Island. Always with the sweet spots. So, I’m happy to have finally seen it and am holding back on a review because, as a victim of my own over expectations, I feel a little nostalgic longing for stories and lines I’ve come to be comfortable with in their dreaded retrospect. I’ll just say (of the film) that it was like an uncomfortable visit with an old aunt you once thought was the life of the party only to realize now she’s just old and sadly clinging to the corners of her botoxed mind. I think they kind of rushed production. But as I’m seeing it again next week I’ll save a full review until then. Sometimes the second coming is better; less urgent buildup and premature post-climax dread. We’ve all been there. I’m trying to not be too let down. Enough bummer moments for one lifetime thanks. On the positive side, my memories of Aunties Patsy and Edina are very fond. I’ll always have them.

Whilst walking down W22nd street towards 7th Avenue towards the West Village (I’m semi/quasi/sorta obsessed with Toby’s Estate Coffee on Charles Street, both for the great coffee and the greater selfie lighting) we walked past a townhouse for sale and I stopped to snap a pic only to see the plaque on the door “Seaman House.” Like, a place where seaman used to go in 1841 when this house was built. “I’m here to see Dick.” Dick Seaman, get it? So I was telling AbFab friend about Seaman House when I mistakenly locked eyes with what I thought was a girl, a funky red headed Parker Posey type, who smiled quite lasciviously at me and started giving us the historic lowdown on Seaman House as I tried to keep on walkin. AbFab friend is much friendlier than me so he engaged in the conversation with Parker Posey type who was chilling on a neighboring stoop, about how Parker Posey type’s Great Grandfather was a Seaman, etc. I looked up from my iPhone long enough to ascertain that Parker Posey type was indeed a sis of trans proportions. Only when I finally pulled AbFab friend away did Parker Posey type giggle at the SEAMAN entendre. I guess I’m really not alone on this twisted island of pervy proportions I call my cerebral solarium. Who said alliteration boners had to pop with all SSSSS’s.

At Toby’s Estate I saw no one remotely fuckable so I posed a bit and headed back to Chelsea to watch AbFab reruns in air conditioned seclusion in my Lacroix onsie. Cheers til I’ve been to paradise/me.

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