Everyone who received this image assumed this was just a typical photo taken on a Saturday night in the back yard. It is actually the first stage of the grandiose Halloween party, Sunday night at Twist. Why do people always think the worst?

To say that the crowd attending Cazwell's show at Edison Farrrow's new party, Lux, is an understatement. They were rabid, and no one was foaming at the mouth more than me. When Geronimo, here in the background started to drop his boxers, I thought the crowed was going to charge the stage. I would have been the first zombie to take a bite. But all fun has its costs and staying out too late has taken me days to recover. It's an odd fact: the more you work in the night life industry, the more you shy away from going out at night.
Edison and Tomas Barker at brunch Sunday afternoon; that's Geronimo front and center.

The next big worry is the coming weekend, which will be three nights of outrageous partying. We have a group of us going as The Village People on Sunday. It is going to be a very dangerous weekend, and I have promised Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish to maintain control over the weekend's activities.

The whole town is twisted about Cazwell's appearance at Edison's party tonight. Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish is pulling out her Cadillac for the event in the hope that she will get closer to the dancers than I am assured of. Silly old woman! I am going to be right up there with those Latino hotties, and Mr. Astor has given me the pass to do it.

It's been a long, long time since I've been so excited. Edison Farrow is bringing in Cazwell and his dancers to the old Liquid space now named Lux. He has graciously given us VIP status, which--I assume--will let me close enough to lick the sweat from Cazwell's dancer's bodies. Mr. Astor assures me that this is totally appropriate under the current economic climate, and I will wear eighteen button white gloves to assure Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish that a level of propriety is maintained. My tongue, however, is off limits to Society tonight.

Where does the time go when you are the victim of bad behavior. I had warned my housemates and their guests that the Road To Ruin was a super highway, but they did not listen to me.
The Lipstick Lesbians were--in my opinion--the driving factor in all that went down.
Despite my constant warnings to "behave", they demonstrated a marked disregard for anything of the sort.
Things rapidly degraded.
And, they didn't stop there.
Even my own baby joined in on the bacchanal; I had no leverage any longer.
Somehow, they even managed a type of chorus line. Oh, the shame.....

On Sunday we continued our binge of partying by bringing out Henrietta to Ocean Drive where there are always afternoon drag queens waiting to be adored.
They love to perform on the sidewalk for the enjoyment of the lucky tourists who pass by.
We ran into few old friends, but did see our boy, Dario, from South Africa.
On Sundays, like most other days, all roads lead to Twist; we ended up there for its 6 PM BBQ with Susie. Doctors Brad and George joined us for a night in which we were truly obnoxious; it was so much fun. Terry The Terrible arrived today to officially start "season". This truly scares me as I barely survived last winter's version of fun. Still, we seemed to dodge the hurricane bullet again this year, which gives us all reason for confidence we can survive anything. It is called a Fool's Paradise.

We joined the circuit of partying again last night. When you work for these clubs, there is an odd feeling to avoid them at night. That, of course, is impossible and you have to balance it all. Staying home all the time is not an option in this town.
Alex is our favorite, Russian bartender at Score. He's got a body you could feast off of.
Glamorous celebrities lined up for a photo with The Queen of South Beach.
A quick touch up and off we were to Twist. It was 1 AM and I was feeling a little tired already (I don't think I'm up for this anymore. But you have to be a trooper.)
All roads lead to the go-go boy bungalow bar...and-of course--to bartender Erik.