I suppose waking up on Tuesday morning clutching a free-drink token, two business cards and a hand-written invitation to a burlesque show is a good sign that you've given Monday night the hard fucking it deserves. Still, I've got to admit I left TimeOut New York's "Horny Party" more sexually frustrated than I was when I went in. No fault of the good people at TimeOut — they provided a bottle to spin and plenty of good-looking young folks, as you can see from the photos my coworkers have kindly used to blackmail me into writing this. The problem may be more that, having recently emerged from a long relationship, I have misplaced whatever game I once had. In any event, a tip of the hat to TimeOut. I got drunk, and I lost my heart to a beautiful burlesque dancer named Runaround Sue. (Pictured below — sadly, I wasn't the only one getting handwritten invitations.) (Sidenote: is it just me, or is there something kind of weirdly sexless about burlesque? It's like crocheting or something. Or maybe I'm just not comfortable enough with my [raging] sexuality to watch a pretty girl undress in public without feeling like a dog begging for scraps.) Thanks to friend and former Nerve intern Lux over at Fleshbot for the hard evidence.
