Let's be the gay social event of the season!

... of course you are 🙄

I take it that the two wearing bow ties are married to one another. The two wearing regular ties are just fucking.

I’m the groundless rumor overheard in the bathroom stall. “That short guy over there with the coming out haircut, had sex with the keynote sleeper and gave him a herpes.”

Many years ago, I was invited to an A-Gay Christmas Charity event in NYC. It was a sea of black, white, grey and beige. I didn't expect Christmas sweaters, but I expected some acknowledgement that it was Christmas. I wore a red sweater and I think it was the only color there.

[quote] I wore a red sweater and I think it was the only color there.

I assume you were not invited again R4.

R5, actually, I was. I borrowed a pair of Christmas trousers from a friend for the second event: yellow corduroy with snowmen and Christmas trees embroidered on it. ;) The relationship was already unraveling, so, it was a bit of a FU to his pretentious and colorless friends.

OP, except for the Cox and Delta signs in the back, it looks like intermission at Gay Night at the Metropolitan Opera.

What are YOU doing here?

I'm the constant background HISSSSSSS because everyone present has slept with everyone else at some point.

That cannot be the event of the season if that black man is an invitee. If he’s the help, then maybe.

It's Atlanta - what do you expect?

Someone was whispering "breed me" in the men's room but I like to mind my own business.

R6 So festive!

I’m two of your exes, whispering about you just out of earshot.

I'm the Eurovision Song Contest party, a must for all self-respecting gays, either to organize or attend.

I’m the clogged plumbing of the hosting location the morning after.

I am bored.

I am the toxic fumes created by all the designer colognes, hair products and Jean-Paul Gautier skin lotions.

I’m the half empty bottle of PREP

I’m the caftans swirling and whirling like a dervish.

I'm the event literature made available at the front registration desk and on each round table that is always filled with numerous, regrettable proofreading errors.

I’m the prolapse.

I'm the anal leakage left on 75% of the seat covers.

The picture at OP should forever put to rest the controversy over whether there is a "gay face."

Why does every guy smell like Creed Aventus?

R12 that was me, you should have

Fuck, that black dude is hot

I'm the empty vessel ATL slut trying to transform his image by being seen at this event with no idea what it's about or what charity it benefits. Just like everyone else there.

I’m in Atlanta and just saw second from right reporting from riot site downtown for WSB. I normally never watch local news and wouldn’t have recognized him otherwise. Don’t know what his name is.

I'm everybody drunk after cocktails.

I'm the young gay excited to have been invited. I am thrilled by the attention paid to me by the older men and end the night being spit roasted by a couple. They will never speak to me again.

[quote] Creed Aventus

Ah, R25, very eldergay.

I'm the board member of Joining Hearts and an originator of Raft Race ( now defunct due money mishandling) trashing the social event as a subpar disappointment and sounding off to all who'll listen, of what should have been done instead. Ad Nauseum.

[quote]They will never speak to me again.

For reasons that are well known to you.

I'm the guy you are all hissing about. i don't give a damn. Bow down, peons!

So I'm wearing jeans. So what? Just try and make me leave.

I'm the Mr. Turk outfit, ready for the HRC garden party in Palm Springs.

I'm the happy little Chlamydia.

Bow down indeed, R35

I'm the evening's prepubescent entertainment.

That young blade Zack at R39

I'm the 64-year-old queen's fun-n-festive holiday blazer in jewel toned paisleys that gets dusted off in late November every year, and worn repeatedly to various cheese-ball-on-a-silver-tray gatherings.

I'm the Bal Poudré.

You can’t speak to me like that—I’m on the Executive Committee!

I am the inevitable argument that occurs in the Audi A 5 Convertible between the bow tie couple on the way home to Buckhead.

I'm the baby clothes rummage sale at Andy Cohen's house! I draw not only new daddies, but also bitter childless queens who have strong opinions about the RIGHT way to clothe a baby.

I'm the $250 ticket to the event, an event which honors a straight person.

I'm the lifetime honoree, an elderly, distinguished attorney who has spent decades doing thousands of hours of pro bono work on same-sex marriage, making out wills for older gay and lesbian couples, assisting dozens of foreign partners of Americans to emigrate to the States, all the while making major donations to AIDS and breast cancer charities and food banks in the community.

I'm also the queen seated at a table in the back who rolls his eyes and hisses to to his seatmate, "I had him when he was good-looking. MAJOR poppers pig."

I'm the dreadful piped background music in the venue foyer.

I’m the sinister bad air condition filter. I maybe teaming with allergens, or worse (Legionaire). Between the cheap booze hangover and the swollen sinus passages, you’re guaranteed to feel like shit for the next few days.

I am the seating arrangement, the most controversial part of the evening.

I’m the phallic ice sculpture.

I’m that feeling of acceptance, equality and blandness that everyone has been desperately seeking all their lives. I make them all work hard to resist their own smugness and start sniffing their own farts.

I’m the D-List celebrity ‘fag hag’ attempting to build a career out of a vintage designer wardrobe, a whip stitch sense of funny, a great haircut and an odd ferocious bravado.

R52 I’m the aging queen who screamed - my god is that big, I wanna go down on it.

I'm the constant criticism of every second of the event, but I'm actually having a really good time.

R56 - I think I know you.

R57 Hiya!

I am the catering, full of salmonella.

Although the Taramasalata on the buffet table is fresh and delicious. But no one knows what it is and it goes untouched.

I am canceled because of the Rona.

I’m the wealthy geezer who inevitably has a widowmaker coronary on the dance floor, spoiling the festivities for everyone when the paramedics have to clear the room.

I am the intra-couple arguing about whether to wear a regular tie or a bow tie to this sad Republican event.

I am the one who gives in on the tie issue, "Fine!"

I'm the current boyfriend that paid the $150 for both tickets comfortably situated at a solid stress free 'B' group table. I just saw you, seeing your Ex and now your suddenly texting at an awkward angle making it impossible for me to read while asking , do I want anything from the bar?