Fire Island Frollicking

I was finally prepared to bear down and tear through some employment applications this afternoon when an email arrived with this lovely picture.

You can't see him, but on the other end of the camera was hot man Joe whom we met on the fairy (sic) to Fire Island.

My friend Nate on the far right had successfully hooked-up with the hot Italian in the middle the night before at Better Burger in Chelsea turning our friendly island adventure into me as a third wheel. It only served to make me more aggresive, and successfully amongst my fliration I achieved having hot guy Joe take our picture and email it to me - two weeks later.

(Does this mean he madly loves me but is scared of moving too quickly?)

Fire Island is definitely a site to see, except that everything on the island costs so damn much that you have top be as old as the guy in the back of the picture to afford it - and most of them were.

Beautiful regardless, but you know it's a pretty bad sign when the only people you want to flirt with are the hired help, and I couldn't find cool man Joe anywhere...reminding me of when Abby and I were in South Spain and we (or I) chose our hotel in Bolonia based on the hotness of the staff...sigh.

The Fire Island beach was incredible and incredibly gay, with one area neatly monickered 'the woods' which one can imagine attracts what types...and it was also my first experience swimming in the Atlantic and as sacrifice I surrendered my Kenneth Cole sunglasses to a cheap ocean diety who has yet to provide me the hot trim I was meant to receive in return.

On a celebrity note, I had a late lunch with some friends on the island, one of which had gone out the previous night with a group of friends and even more extended friends to the Kinky concert, and one of the friends just happened to turn out to be Gael Garcia Bernal. You gotta love a city that puts my flesh anywhere in proximity to his.