Two words – transvestite brunch. This may be the best concept I’ve ever heard, and perhaps Phil’s offer to take me was the best idea he ever had! It escalated into quite a big party, myself, Phil, Alex, Rob, Rob’s wife PJ, Rob’s wife’s friend Tamara, Ivan, Jorge, and Ivan’s friend Julie. Transvestite brunch is a Sunday institution at Perry’s in Adams-Morgan, and apparently there are usually queues round the block, but the snow had driven everyone away so we got a table no problem. We enjoyed a copious buffet with bottomless jugs of bloody mary, and transvestites. Every 20 minutes or so one of the 2 drag acts that had managed to make it into work came out, mimed and danced, and gyrated with various eaters. Alex was right in there of course, but even I got plenty of good tranny action. The drag queens were particularly drawn to Rob for some reason. The photos are spectacular.
Absolutely lashed, I had a conversation with the little drag queen about how marvellous Nicaragua is and how I’d love to go back. After the poor transvestites had finally escaped, the establishment somehow managed to get our party out into the street where we rolled half cut into a bar and spent the rest of the afternoon getting completely trashed. Maria turned up in the middle of it all at about 5 pm and was clearly quite bemused to see the state that we’d all got ourselves into (apart from Julie, who had sensibly left). Alex tried to persuade us all to go to a sauna party at his hotel, but that never happened. I ended up in bed at 10 pm, passed out blind drunk, having made no arrangements for my flight the next morning but with Rob’s drunken assurance that he would figure it all out.
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