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December 27, 2017



Having innocent fun under the sun at the pool party was one thing, but the real event and ultimate test to see how I handle my shit in a circuit party setting would be at the actual White Party which is the mother of all circuit parties.

For the big WP, I gave you a white bedazzled tank top and white Zara pants.  I purchased the pants specifically for WP (can we say, buyers remorse?).  I would never wear all white for any other occasion, on account of all white makes me feel like a cabana boy, or a waiter at some low rent Mexican Restaurant.  However, I completely applied myself.  My ass spent days gluing rhinestones on that fucking tank top –making sure not to overdo it, because I knew I was stepping on that very fine line between masculine and feminine.  I had to find an actual wife beater from an Army Surplus store and not some nelly 2xist or CK titty top from a department store to pull off looking like a boy and not some sparkle magic queen.  The last time I bedazzled a shirt, (yep, it’s not my first time in sparkle motion), I used those clamp backings for the rhinestones that snagged onto everything I touched.  Those metal prongs pulled runs on expensive shirts and they got tangled into wigs and scratched the shit out of anyone who hugged, or pressed up against me.  We live and we learn.


The thought of being at the White Party that night was more than I could stand so I dropped to my knees and said a little prayer to the universe that I get through the evening without tripping and falling into a baggie.  I didn’t think I would have any problems.  I didn’t feel triggered and pretty much saw the event for what it was, but one never knows when it comes these things.  Anything could happen.  It’s better to be on guard than to be complacent and later finding yourself crawling out of some gutter and be all like, “WHAT HAPPENED!?”

Of course, I was heckled by my fellow sobers when I arrived to the White Party.  “Pee in a cup bitch,” they teased me. “Pee in a cup.”  To which I responded, “OK, but hold on a second.  I’ll be RRRIGHT back.” It was all in good fun.


The actual White Party is almost the same as I remember it a good ten years ago, only waaayyy bigger and the white costumes were way more elaborate.  I was in costume heaven.  Also, like any other gay event these days, many women were in attendance, which is a sign of the times.   The motif inside made me think of a giant spaceship with lights and lasers flying all over the place and alien sex fiends wearing neon colored costumes and coming at ya with glassy eyes.  My Latin bitches LOVE to walk around with wings at this event for some reason, don’t ask my why.  There were also lots of plays on sporty gays with guys wearing short 70s shorts with the knee-length white socks.  You had shirtless guys in football uniform shorts.  And some whorie guys just wore a white jockstrap.  The VIP section was also bigger.  It was like a club within a club, which made me feel a little less…muy importante persona.



People were telling everybody not to tell nobody that Kylie Minogue was a super secret performer planned for the evening to ring in WP/25.  I don’t know who starts these rumors; I don’t regularly come to this event, but I’ve heard the same type of rumor throughout the years. There was the year they swore Madonna would grace the stage.  There were talks of a Britney appearance.  Then there was the year everyone freaked out when Cher came on stage, only to find out that it was a Cher impersonator (are we allowed to talk about that?).  Kylie was nowhere to be seen come show time, but Ariana Grande more than made up for it.  She held up well against former WP divas like Gaga and J-Lo.  She was cute.  I thought she killed it.

Photo by Jonathan Bierner

Photo by Jonathan Bierner

For me to pretend that I didn’t see guys rolling on E or strung out on meth, would be a rotten, filthy lie. It is what it is.  I wasn’t there for too long before I witnessed a set of dilated eyes and noticed the clenching of the a jaw, the hard chewing of gum and the twitchy motions that can only add to meth, meth, METH.  I must admit, I was a little spooked.  I’ve seen people fucked up throughout my sobriety, but I have not been around this kind of tweaky energy while in a circuit party setting in well over 7 years.  I was like, “Oh yeah…there it is.  I forgot.”  However, I’m not the kind of sober who gets mad at people for getting their drink on and I’m the last person with any room to throw daggers or give side-slits at a guy who appears to be tweaking.  I totally get it.  I don’t dig it, but also don’t judge it (much).  It was off-putting at first, but nothing to panic about.  Once I took it in, I was able to tune it out.  I was done seven years ago.  I walked away from those glassy eyes feeling grateful that I stayed done.


The White Party honestly didn’t suck.  I’m sure if I was more tapped in to the DJ and whatever set he was playing, or if I was a connoisseur of a certain light and sound, then I would have enjoyed it a lot more, but I was never a DJ groupie.  Still, I can’t say that I hated the night.  I thought I was going to be miserable the entire party and counting the seconds until we called it quits, which can be the case when you’re not in on the joke, or everyone is on a totally different vibe (or high) than you, but once we hit the dance floor, I didn’t give a shit who was on what.  And before I knew it, it was well past 2 a.m.

We planned to hit up the afterhours party, but that was pushing it.  I know my limit.  There was no way, I could do afterhours and then hit up a pool party the next day, followed by the Tea Dance.  Easy cheetah, pace yourself.  The white party was had.


I have to be honest with you, I found myself feeling so damn grateful to leave the White Party at a decent hour, not feeling sketched out or triggered and the only sickness I felt was from my cold.  Ah, to be able to sleep.  SLEEP!!!

Pool Party: Check
White Party: Check.

That all started on Saturday.  Sunday, there was another pool party, followed by the Tea Dance, followed by the Farewell Party and the after AFTER party and fuck me straight to hell.




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About Paulo Murillo,

Paulo has been writing for the gay media for over 16 years. He made his debut as a columnist for FAB! Newspaper. He has written for LA Health News, IN Los Angeles, Frontiers and The Fight Magazine. He has been featured in The Bay Area Reporter, XY Magazine, Bay Windows, Windy Times, and Press Pass Q, He has been quoted in the pages of Edge Magazine, Gay & Lesbian Times, Seattle Gay News, Fuges, and in a shitload of online news outlets and blogs, thanks in large part to Rex Wocker’s Quote on Quote – Wockner Wire.

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