On the Sunday of a three-day weekend, I kind of expect for things to be, you know, going on. Typically there's all sorts of city-type rejoicing and people out and about celebrating the fact that they can get drunk and not go to work the next day.
Well, Boston doesn't seem like that sort of town. At least, not from what I've seen (and I admit that I'm not "in the know"). Last night, Puppy and I went to the local bar (totes empty), downed a couple of drinks, then went to an advertised weekly night called "Hot Mess." Puppy led me a few blocks away and we arrived ... at a Courtyard Marriott.
Skeptical, I went in with pretty low expectations, and we descended a few flights to the basement level, which was rather stylishly appointed (but it still felt like the basement of a Courtyard Marriott) and quickly filled with people of all shapes and sizes. And I do mean all sizes!
The DJs played fun mash-ups (and one dared to play "Money Can't Buy You Class" by the Countess LuAnn DeLesseps from the Real Housewives of New York) and people all let loose. I was sort of mesmerized by a petite fellow with a very defined body because he seemed to be of indeterminate age. While his body looked like that of a young twenty-something, his face may have belonged to a fifty-year-old. And with his Guy Fiyeri/Zac Efron hairdo and raggedy goatee, it really was tough to tell.
But bopping around the crowd was Mystique from the most recent season of RuPaul's Drag Race. She was a large lady with quite the entourage. She didn't seem at all happy to be there and I certainly hope she wasn't getting paid much for her "appearance."
I have to say, however, that I think it was my favorite night out thus far, possibly because there was a dancer who had a rubber chicken strapped to his head.