Saturday was Mandy’s birthday. They had all been doing vodka cocktails since two in the afternoon at her girlfriend Ka Ka’s new shop, Reka, this splendid little boutique on 15 Aberdeen Street (NoHo‘nistas, go check it OUT), so at the dinner, it was like, wives gone wild. Two are loving mothers and don’t come out much, so it was a total MILF field trip. They aren’t able to use the F-word in front of the babies, so it was all “Fack the food!” “Fack the fish!” “Fack Heidi!” “Faack Clive!” A rather hot, entertaining mess. Then it was Avey’s farewell party. Another old friend, leaving the city. His soirée brought out lots of old faces, the crowd that used to hang out at old Homebase until the crack of dawn, waiting for the morning parties to start happening. Aaaah, youth. Avey first went to Wagyu Lounge with just a few mates, and we all waited for him at W52. After surrendering to his miserable lot, like, “I’m a loser, nobody cares that I’m leaving for Sydney!” he was taken to W52, where we surprised him, all dressed in Avey-esque fashion, and had our Avey-pose Polaroids taken by the talented Emma French, pasted in two little albums. And that brings us to my first BP9MD8STFU of the year! It happened whilst we were loitering outside W52 waiting for DJ Lucas Luraka to finish before we went over to Drop (I had already said my final farewell, ready to hop into a cab because a rather malevolent headache was developing, probably from way too much Prosecco the evening before at Kolours, then beer, rosé, vodka sodas and tequila shots during this night). This sweet Filipina girl Sharon was overcome with emotion and hugged Avey tightly. “Come on~~~ Sharon!” whined her impatient white male undernourished friend. “Let’s go!” Sharon was still hugging Avey tightly. “Come on~~!!” the guy kept prodding verbally. “I think your friend is being passive aggressive,” I joke-poked. “Not passive aggressive, I’m being totally aggressive,” The scrawny minotaur in his hideous red sweatshirt griped. “Excuse me, are you leaving on Monday, or is Avey?” I snapped. He turned around to his other female friend. Obviously I wasn’t getting his attention. It was all over the place. In your advanced state, punk, you might’ve been coming up and gagging for a dark corner to dance in, but puh-lease—it’s not your fucking farewell. Although I’d wish it were. “Come on Sharon~~~~! It’s just a gay guy...!” he whined again. WHAAAAAAAAT? I heard his words, and struggled to figure out the sense he was trying to make. I’m thinking, what does “gay” have ANYTHING do with Sharon giving Avey a long goodbye hug? Envy? Interference? Homophobia? I just get blisteringly unforgiving and furious when I encounter ignoranuses, so my next immediate thoughts were: Gau m daap baat. Betch, please. Shut the fuck up. “What do you mean JUST a gay guy?” I pressed. The indecorous imp turned back around, puzzled. “Are YOU gay?” I interrogated further. “No...” he bleated. “WELL YOU TALK LIKE A GAY GUY.” I stabbed. Cue laughter from all around. Good Lord, sometimes, you just have to stoop down to their level of discrimination and dumb to make a point. Thank God I have a puja this Thursday for penance.