Sunday, May 21, 2017

Party Tonight 7PM

FUSION tonight (Sunday 5/21), 7PM to 11PM (doors 10PM).

Email me at theorgyguy@gmail.com for details.  

Please do not give my cell number or address to anyone. If you think someone would like the parties, then have them go through the regular process by emailing me.  I don't respond to calls or texts for info.

Note that, upon arriving at the building, please text "Here" to me to be let in; do not ring the bell and don't call.  I'll immediately buzz you in.  Don't follow someone else in; use the text system so I know you're coming up and not making someone in the building feel uncomfortable about letting in a stranger, and so I know you're coming up the stairs.

The building is 449, so be sure you're at the correct building.

Please note the hours.

Thank you guys.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Matchers is Coming Friday 9/23! And About How I Came Out – Post #75


Last blog, I asked you guys to call or email The Center to ask about Matchers.  It was meant to peak the interest of the folks at the front desk, there.  Create a little buzz.

Well I went to The Center, today, to get our supply of condoms, and upon mentioning to someone new at the front desk that I host the event, she happily exclaimed, “Everybody keeps asking about Matchers!” 

Thanks guys!  I appreciate it.

The next Matchers event will be Friday, September 23rd, from 7:30 to 9:30PM (arrive between 7-7:20PM).  Room 310.  Email me at matchers4men@gmail.com for details.  The following date will be Friday, October 21st, same time, same venue, same room.

Here's the blog post dedicated to it.

Gay men don’t have very many places where it’s mostly gay men, where we can meet other guys.  Mostly bars and gyms.  Sex parties, too, but there’s usually not a whole lot of talking going on there.  The Center, of course, but Matchers is the only dating event there, too.

In conceptualizing this event, I’m going with the philosophy used by the members of the band, KISS, which is to create the event that I’m super-excited to attend.  So that’s what I’ve done.

Matchers is going to be a lot fun.  A cross between a talk show and a town hall meeting, where gay men get to share their opinions on a variety of hot topics (politics, social issues, entertainment), then get to fill out forms to select which guys he’d want to get to know better.  Whichever guys pick him, as well, are his matches.

I’m no longer billing this as an event for the exclusive purpose of looking for a partner.  That can feel contrived and uncomfortable, like “Are you my next boyfriend?!”  I’m happier with it being for any relationship, even if it’s platonic.  But ostensibly guys will go to Matchers more for dating than for casual friendships.

Casual sex is usually on gay men’s menus, too, so there’s also that. ;)

More information is coming, so please stay tuned to the blog dedicated to Matchers: matchers4men.blogspot.com.  Or email me at matchers4men@gmail.com.

Thanks again and I hope to not only see you, but to finally get to hear you, at the next Matchers.

Ö Ö Ö

Also last blog, I wrote about how I realized I’m gay.  Guys sometimes tell me that they like my blog (which is always surprising, since I sometimes think, Who reads this shit?), but I received more feedback from this one than maybe ever.  I’m glad.

So I figure I ought to follow it up with, How I Came Out.

I’ve already written about my initial experiences at the Long Island Expressway Exit 49 Park & Ride.  That’s where I…er…cut my teeth.  A dude I met there took me to my first gay bar, a few months after my 21st birthday (when I discovered cruising and became sexually active), called Pal Joey’s in North Bellmore.  That’s the same bar Henry Marquez was at just before he was murdered by Andrew Esposito, for being gay.  That incident led to a fairly large protest, which I marched in.  I also happened to move right up the street, about a year later. 

From the summer of 1990, until Christmas of ’91, I created a gay social life of mostly sex and bars and cars and more sex, apart from my straight life, which was college, working, and being in a rock band.  It wasn’t until January of ’92 when I came out to my family, which was really the high watermark for my coming out process: once they knew, then telling my straight friends would be pretty easy.

My father was a police officer.  Very straight-edge and conservative, but thankfully not religious.  I figured my mother, with whom I’d had many sophisticated supper conversations throughout my teen years (while Dad was working the 4PM-12AM shifts), and since she liked Phil Donanue and Oprah Winfrey, I figured she’d be cooler with it than my father would be.

Nope!

I remember being in my bedroom, getting my stuff together to take a shower, when my mother knocked on my door.  I let her in, she pulled out my desk chair, and said, “I don’t mean to upset you, but I’ve got to ask you a question.  Are you gay?”  My initial reaction – like that very first second – was to look up at the ceiling and start to make a facial expression conveying, “WTF, are you kidding?!” but when I looked back at her, I just gave up and said, “Yes.”  I literally felt weight come off my shoulders.

She was shocked.  I think I followed it up with, “Now we can talk about anything.”  And boy did we!  We talked for about an hour, and I told her things she was totally not ready for.  I’d assumed that the coming out part was like the pinnacle of anything taboo I could talk about with my mother, and that anything else would be easy for her to take, by comparison. 

Nah, she needed time to absorb the mere fact that her son just almost completely changed right before her eyes.  I was too naïve to get that.  She needed a lot of time to deal with it, so I moved out later that month. 

January ’92.  What a winter that was!  What a year that was!  Life is so exciting, dramatic, and seemingly unprecedented when you’re 22.

So my mother needed time.  Before I moved out, one afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and saw my mother lying on the den floor.  Her two hands pressed together, under her head, the way a child would.  She was awake, thinking…worrying.  Obsessing.

She stood up and said she wasn’t “taking this well,” so we sat at the kitchen table and talked some more.  She said some things, which today would be considered “toxic” and “homophobic,” but she was just processing too much information, with too many concurrent emotions, and having an honest experience.  She came around and has been great, ever since.

My father, though.  He was way different.  In a good way.  First of all, he’d been asking my mother for a while about why I’d never had a girlfriend.   Mom would tell him, “If you want to know, just ask him.”  But she didn’t believe I was gay, so she figured s/he had nothing to lose.  Finally, after he’d asked again, she went upstairs and knocked on my door.

My father was a police officer, so he’d already seen so much Life, had great perspective.  His third kid being gay wasn’t the end of the world, even as I feared he would think that way.

After my mother and I finished our first conversation, when I came out to her, I said I was afraid to come down for dinner because by then my father would know I’m gay.  My mother was about to officially confirm it.   That concept was a real trip, and a scary one.  She said she’d go down and speak to him.  I took my shower.

When I got out and returned to my bedroom, my Dad was waiting for me.  I only remember him saying, “It’s OK to come down for dinner.”  No gruffness or attitude, he was understanding.

I knew it was going to be alright.

He died in 2006, and it’s only since then that I’ve realized that my father likely already knew.  He probably picked up on things from when I was growing up.  Like I said, he’d seen a lot of life.

One instance, I thought for sure he was going to find a couple of gay magazines I had in my car.  I woke up at around noon, looked out my bedroom window and saw my car backed up the driveway, with my Dad’s legs sticking out the driver’s side door, his head under the dashboard.  He was fixing the turn signal, which he’d already told me he was going to do, so stupid me for keeping them under my seat.

Our driveway was slanted, so the back end of my car (a metallic orange ’75 Chevy Malibu, which I bought from my father for $1,000) was higher than the front end.  Gravity.  There were two magazines, the kind you find in gay bars, under the driver’s seat. 

This is what I saw when I looked out the window, having just woken up.

I totally thought he would’ve seen them, but since he hadn’t said anything, I’d always figured he hadn’t seen them.  But all these years later, I’m pretty sure he did see them.  And I’m really glad he acted as a catalyst to get the truth out in the open.  Good job, Dad.

The day before my mother asked me, funnily enough, I had just come out to my sister.  The very day before! 

Lori had just given birth to her daughter, on Christmas Day, and I went over to visit in the afternoon.  I think we watched “Blazing Saddles.”  Or “History of the World.” 

But I’d already written her a coming out letter, which I’d brought with me.  I was so nervous, I practically threw it at her as I was leaving, running to my car and speeding away.

I’d always felt super-safe around my big sister, which is obviously why I chose to come out to her, first.  She later said how much she was worried because A) We had just watched Blazing Saddles and she was afraid maybe she’d laughed at something gay and B) I’d think she told my mother.  But of course she hadn’t.

Coming out to my older brother, Vic, worried me more.  I was certain he wouldn’t kick me out of his life, but he was an ex-military, NRA, fundamentalist Christian, conservative, Ted Nugent-loving hunter-of-Bambis.  Even with all of that, I was secure that he’d be at least aiight. 

He lived in Wurtsboro, NY, and we planned for me to visit, that Saturday.  I didn’t want to come out to him, face-to-face; so, like with my sister (and as likely would have been with my parents, had they not asked), I wanted to tell Vic in a letter.  But it was already late in the week, so getting him a letter via regular mail wouldn’t work.  There was no email yet.

I quickly wrote a coming out letter to my brother, rushed to the post office, and had it next-day shipped.  Now that I write this, I’m thinking about how so very little money I had right after I first moved out, but it was less of a price than having to say it straight to my brother’s face.

Anyway, when I got to the house, he said that when he received it, he immediately thought “something was up.”  He was mostly very cool about it all.  I don’t think he ever tried to change me or whatever.  Pretty sure I’d remember that.

It wasn’t easy coming out to my best friend, Larry.  He and I were also in a band, called Tempest Rising.  Larry was a long-haired, crotchety conservative kid, but we were great friends. 

I’d already told our mutual friend, Rob, with whom I’d just moved in to my first place, a house on 25A in East Setauket.  I waited at the corner bar, called Country Corner, while Rob broke the news to Larry, next door at the house.  I sat at the bar with a bottle of beer, and after about a half hour, Larry came in, sat at the next stool.  We didn’t say anything for a few seconds.  I think the first thing he said was, “You know, I used to throw bottles at people like you.”

That broke the tension and, like with what my Dad first said, I knew it was going to be cool.  Larry and I, like most male friends, throw these types of barbs at each other to ease tension and to be playful. 

Larry was, and still is, very conservative.  He used to say, “I just don’t get it.”  Which was fine.  I tried explaining it to him several times, but it got to the point where, since it hadn’t been part of our relationship before, why start now?  We just proceeded with our same friendship and let it play its course. 

The extended family just kinda looked at me sideways, when they thought I wasn’t noticing.  But they were fine, too.  Granted, it’s Long Island, where the general perception of gay is a couple of decades behind Manhattan, but it’s been all good.

That was a loooooong time ago.  Sheesh.  It’s really something, how far we’ve come.

How far we’ve all come.

Ö Ö Ö


Finally, here’s an email someone forwarded to me, which he’d received from someone who’s been to my parties.  I don’t know who it is, but I’m sure glad someone feels this way.  hi - saw your posting on CL. I've always had good luck at parties hosted by Scott. You can email him for details - scott@theorgyguy.com  ...he has an apartment midtown west, charges $20 but worth it. Usually a dozen or so guys, good mix, and hot action, you can get as into it as you want, ok just to hang out as well. Hosts parties several times a week.



The Örgy Guy

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

How I Found Out I’m Gay, Naked Men, and Contacting The Center for Matchers – Post #74



I have a lot of very early childhood memories.  When I openly recall them to someone, the response is often, “How can you remember something from when you were so young? I’m lucky if I remember anything before age ten!” 

I actually recall my mother giving me a bath in the bathroom sink.  It likely burned into my memory because I peed on her, and her subsequent surprise. 

Before I even knew that girls didn’t have penises was when I saw my younger cousin using the toilet.  I exclaimed, “You have two hineys!” It looked like a tiny butt, what can I say?  I was probably four years old.

At around the same age, I liked to take the shirts off my older brother’s GI Joes.  I ‘d pull down the pants, but pull them back up after inspections; I somehow knew it wasn’t acceptable. They had fuzzy hair and beards, which made them somewhat realistic, but I can still recall my disappointment when I touched the smooth area where there ought to have been a dick.  There’s actually a picture of me in our house, sitting on stairs, with a bunch of shirtless GI Joes lined up on either side of me.  I had a very big grin.

Before I knew the differences between male and female, I had this notion that men and women, without their children, would go to watch separate movies specific to their gender.  Only one theater, but two screens, with a giant partition separating the men (on the left), from the women (on the right).  I figured hoped that there would be a lot of nudity, and that women weren’t allowed to see men naked, and vice versa.

My most profound early memory was of seeing a naked man for the first time.  I was seven years old.  This one really rocked my world.

In 1976, my parents took my brother, sister, and I (the youngest) to Washington D.C. on vacation.  That was the Bicentennial year, which was a big deal.  The hotel at which we stayed had.  While at the hotel’s indoor pool with my family, I had to use the bathroom, so my brother took me to one which also had a shower.  Vic opened the door for me, and when I looked in, I saw a very beautiful, dark-mustached, curly haired man (picture 70s porn) drying himself with a towel.  I looked up at my brother, who merely shrugged, so I walked in and to the closest stall.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to stare (we were taught never to stare, but this was especially true because I somehow knew I wasn’t supposed to like this naked man), so I didn’t completely close the stall door, rather I left it open barely enough to see through.  This man was incredible!  While drying himself off, he talked to another naked (!) man in a shower stall. But I couldn’t see him.  I…well I stalled as long as I could, without alarming my brother or this completely naked, grown man that I was taking too long.  Plus I desperately wanted to see the other naked man!  I didn’t get to see him, but the one naked man was enough for me!

Did I mention he was actually naked?

I was hooked.  Completely head-over-heels.  It was the most amazing sight I’d ever beheld.

A year or two after that, in another pool/shower situation, I sat next to a naked man on a bench in the locker area.  He had brown hair and no mustache, as I recall, but since I didn’t have any way to be stealth about it, I couldn’t stare.  But just that he was so close to me sent me through the roof.

This was all pre-puberty, by the way.

Then, at age 12, I had yet another locker room/pool/shower situation.  I attended a swimming event at the local high school (Sachem, on Long Island, from which I later graduated in 1987), with my friend Chad and his gorgeous father, Blaise.  He was so fucking hot, and I’d always dreamed about spying through his bedroom window to see him naked.  But this was real!  This time, I stared right at him, agog.  He was all soapy and his cock was flopping back and forth from being washed.  It was at this point, with my tongue likely hanging out, that he said to me, “So Scott, how do you like it?”  He was referring to whether I liked the swimming event, presumably, and I’m not even sure how I responded.  Quite affirmatively, I imagine.  I was also naked, and when I walked out of the shower room, into the locker area, I had a raging hard-on.  One of the older boys saw that and had a disgusted look on my face.  I quickly realized my “mistake” and covered up.

Very early on, like at age four or five, I began getting the boys on the block to watch me pee outdoors (a couple of girls watched, too, including my cousins) and to blow me (no girls!).  We moved when I was five years old, and I got the new neighborhood boys to go down on me, too.  For several years.  I eagerly reciprocated.

It wasn’t until I was about thirteen or so that the blowjobs had to cease, since by that age we knew it was about being gay.  And no one was allowed to be gay!  So all of my teen years, save for one isolated incident when I was nineteen, were devoid of any sexual contact, which was really when I wanted it.  Right around the time I could ejaculate was when I could no longer approach boys.

Besides, at that age I no longer wanted boys; I wanted grown men.  That was actually true from my earliest years, but I had to settle for other boys, early on.

I had one experience at age twelve when I got an 18-year-old to jerk off for me.  First time I saw cum.  Huge dick.  He looked like Kurt Cobain.  I loved it, but I won’t describe it because I have no interest in writing about pedophilia.  But know that I actually came on to him.

There was no internet until I was 26 years old, so I had no way of finding sex before I was old enough to go to bars at age 21.  And other than one straight porn video I’d seen maybe three times, no porn at all.  There was the park & ride highway rest area, but I didn’t discover that until, ironically, the day of my 21st birthday (I could’ve been going there when I started driving at age 18).  For my birthday, my sister took me to see Phantom of the Opera in the city.  I was still living on Long Island.  She thought we were supposed to meet at the exit 52 park & ride, off the Long Island Expressway, but I thought we were to meet at the exit 49 park & ride.  Cell phones weren’t a thing in 1990, so she had no way of calling to see where I was.  By the time she realized it and made her way to exit 49, I’d already figured out what all those guys were doing there, and made a plan to return, the following evening. 

I waited for Lori, parked near the entrance.  It was a warm June day, so I had my window rolled down and was reading “No One Here Gets Out Alive,” the Jim Morrison biography.  Two dudes in a white Toyota Celica kept circling me, but I didn’t understand why.  Finally, they pulled up next to me and asked for the time.  So I gave them the time, still confused, but kind of realizing they were gay.  They pulled away, but about a minute later, they again circled my car, but this time the passenger was holding up a magazine with a lot of skin.  That’s when I did the Rose/Betty White, “Ooooooh! Now I get it!”  The entire time I was watching Phantom, my mind was still back at the park & ride.  I planned to return, the following evening. 

I did…and so my sex life began.

But there was an exact point when I realized I’m gay.  After a few months of going to “49” every chance I got, I met this one particular guy, whom I’d seen cruising the spot several times, but never hooked up with.  When we finally did meet – and after he gave me an “aiight” blow job – we talked.  I was 21 and I think he was 35.  He drove a black corvette and described himself as a “real” gypsy.  Whatever that meant.  But he said something that really resonated with me, which was there’s no such thing as bisexuality.  Guys who said they were bi were really just afraid to admit to being gay.  Although I’ve subsequently learned that there really are bi men and women, the part about my being afraid made me think. 

On my way home, while driving on the Long Island Expressway, I realized, out loud, “Oh shit…I’m gay!”  I can still see the literal road ahead of me, in my mind’s eye.  You’d think my not being into women at all, and my total and undivided interest in men, would have made it a foregone conclusion.  But it wasn’t.  I didn’t give off enough of a gay vibe, growing up, to be called “gay” or whatever associated derogatory term.  No one told me.  So I made up my own narrative, that it was just a phase; I’d have sex with a grown man once, then with my itch scratched, I’d just move on to women, my true love and sexuality.


The other night, during a party and while standing at my “station” where I check guys in and out, I found myself watching one of my attendees undress.  Now, I rarely, if ever, watch guys get undressed because it can feel creepy and disrespectful.  So I really never do it.  But this guy was very much my type.  It made me think about how the mere sight of a naked man used to send me into outer space, but now I have dozens of them, stripping right next to me every week many thousands over the years and I’m so inured to it that I don’t even notice. 

That’s a shame.

I watched this guy get blown, and I eventually watched him jerk off and cum while he was watching two guys fucking.  The look on his face! 

It’s such an amazing privilege to be able to have normal, every-day-type guys, right off the streets of Manhattan, come into my home, strip off their clothes, have sex, shoot their loads, then nonchalantly get dressed again.  I mean, how fucking awesome is that?  After almost 1,100 parties, over seven years, I am still occasionally awed by it.

I do wish, though, that I were still as blown away as I was when I was a kid.  What a gift sexual attraction is.

Thank you for that gift, guys, and for the opportunities associated with it.  I truly appreciate you, and I hope you appreciate these parties. 

We. Are. Privileged.


Ö Ö Ö

The next Matchers event will be in September.  Since I don’t yet have a date – and since the guy who does the scheduling is mad busy – I’m wondering if you can do me a favor. 

Back in the late 80s/early-mid 90s, I was in a rock band, and when we wanted to play a gig at a certain place that was hard to get into, we used a trick.  We’d get our friends to call the place, asking when our band, Tempest Rising, was going to be playing there.  By the time we called to try to schedule, we not only got the gig, but there was already a buzz started.

I’m hoping one or many of you could either call The Center’s front desk (212-620-7310) or email them (info@gaycenter.org) to ask when the next Matchers event is.  That’s it.  The main person at the front desk already knows what Matchers is, but if you get someone who doesn’t know and asks, just tell them it’s a gay dating event.  I’ve already put in the dates request (every other Friday starting in September), but I know they’re busy/on vacation, so it’d be good to light the proverbial fire under their proverbial butts.

To read about the updated Matchers event, please scroll down or click here.  You can also email me at matchers4men@gmail.com.  I encourage you to send me your ideas for discussion topics at the event.  The types of topics we’ll discuss could be the 2016 Presidential Election, Islamophobia, Marijuana Legalization, Gay Rights, Immigration, Censorship.   All sorts of interesting stuff.  And with a system in place for the guys who attend, to make real contact with the guys they might want to get to know better.  Whether he becomes your boyfriend or just a friend, it’s a fabulous way to start relationships. 

Thank you!




The Örgy Guy

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Time Change, All FUSION, PrEP, Housecleaning, Matchers Coming in September – Post #73

Ö


Starting next week, and for the foreseeable future, we’re changing the start/end times of the evening parties to 7PM-11PM (doors 10PM). They’re being shifted to one hour earlier, for the start and end times, as well as the doors-closed time.  This ought to bring more of the guys who come straight from work, and not have traffic in the building after 11PM.

We're also having Friday Happy Hours every Friday, and they will remain 5PM-8PM.

Ö Ö Ö

There’s been a trend of the FUSION and ERUPTION parties being very well attended, but a drop in attendance for the PEAK (safe sex) parties.  ERUPTION is bareback and FUSION is for both safers and BBers.

I can’t definitively determine why this has been a trend, but I believe it may have to do with the advent of the drug, PrEP, which is essentially a drug which claims to kill the HIV virus upon exposure.

Please know that I’m not hereby advocating its use or not to use it, but more and more gay men are on it.  This may be leading guys to take more of a risk.  Again, I’m not stating this, definitively; I’m not qualified.

But because the safe PEAK parties I host have been in somewhat of a decline, and the others have been gaining more participants, I’ve decided to make all the parties non-descript, in that they won’t be billed as safe or bareback, per se, but all inclusive.  This is the way almost all other sex parties are, anyway, so I’m not re-inventing the proverbial wheel here.  We’re just trying to ensure that the attendance level is on par with guys’ hopes and expectations.

As has always been the case, however, I never tell guys how to have sex…that is your choice, and your choice, alone.  I don’t encourage guys to ask other guys if they’re positive or negative or on PrEP: as far back as 1990, when I became sexually active, I realized that asking someone if he’s positive or negative wouldn’t be smart, since I understood that anyone could lie.  I just have always assumed my partner is positive, and I’ve acted willingly and accordingly.  The same goes for asking if he’s on PrEP.  I just can’t be sure, and if he’s lying, I’m ultimately responsible for my own decisions; not some stranger.

It’s also a buzz kill to ask these kinds of questions at a party.

As an aside: please be careful to note that PrEP only treats the HIV virus; it doesn’t prevent other Sexually Transmitted Diseases, like syphilis, gonorrhea, chlamydia, crabs, or most notably, Hepatitis (especially Hep C).

Condoms are always available here, and you need never feel embarrassed about asking a guy to put one on.  If he doesn’t want to, then you each can move on to someone else.  No bad feelings.

If you’re a safe sex bottom, I encourage you to periodically put your hand on his dick to make sure it’s on/still on.  You can feel the condom ring toward the base of the dick.  This is especially true if you’re doing it “doggy style” or in the dark, since it’s harder to see what’s going on back there.

Ö Ö Ö

We had our first Matchers event in May.  Based on the feedback, I’ve come up with an idea to make it a much more fun and interactive experience. 

Instead of each guy standing up and talking about himself for a minute (which can be nerve-wracking and dull), there will be a short list of hot topics for us to discuss.  I will act as the moderator (I used to be a high school English teacher, so this is right up my alley…so to speak!), whereby I’ll call on guys with their hand up who want to say something about whatever we’re discussing. 

The men who are more verbose will naturally get more speaking time, and those who tend to be reticent will likely have less to say.  Basic Darwinism and meritocracy, each of which I strongly believe in.

After the discussion, everyone will be able to get to know guys more personally, with a thirty minute social period. 

You’ll still have the nametag with a code number (in lieu of your name) and you’ll get the fill-in sheets to select the guys you’d like to get to get together with, outside the event.

I’m not billing this as a “find your boyfriend” event, but as a chance to get to make acquaintances with like-minded fellows.  If you fall in love and get married, that’s great, but making it “Are you my next boyfriend?” can be uncomfortable and unduly contrived.

The next one will be in September, at The Center on West 13th Street in Manhattan.  It will likely be on a Friday, but the date is not yet determined.

Ö Ö Ö

Now for a bit of housecleaning.

On the face of it, I screen guys to ensure that they’re height/weight proportionate, low maintenance, and into the scene of my parties.  But I also need to ensure that guys are “with it,” that they don’t do things which could compromise the safety, integrity, and existence of these parties.

In which case, I need to underscore the importance of certain behaviors. 

As you should know, the procedure is that when you arrive at my building (449!!!), you’re to text the word “here” to me.  About 95% of guys follow this perfectly, and it’s a great system, which allows my neighbors to not have to hear the loud, annoying blare of the buzzer.

But occasionally someone – even some of my regulars – opt not to text me.  Either they buzz or they wait for someone with keys to let them in.  This is a very big no-no. 

Whenever I go to someone’s building, I never allow someone to let me in.  I always ring their buzzer and have them buzz me in.  Why?  Because , as a tenant of the building, it can be very uncomfortable – or even not politically correct – to ask the visitor if he lives there or whom he’s there to see.  In the case of my parties, the person might let one of my guys in, but that doesn’t mean they’re happy about it and could potentially, especially if it’s happened multiple times, make a fuss with me or my landlord.  I’m allowed to host these parties, but I have no desire to piss any of my fellow tenants off. 

Plus I don’t want someone coming to my door, unannounced.  I need to know when someone’s coming up the stairs.  And once you’re in the building, please come straight to my apartment, rather than stay downstairs to use your phone or whatever; I’m waiting for you at the door, even when I have other things I need to attend to, so it’s a frustrating waste of time to stand there wondering what happened to you.

Last week, after the party had already ended and I was eating dinner in front of the TV, some dude walked into my apartment.  I had the door ajar, as I sometimes do, to let my two cats hang out in the hall.  Suddenly, both of them ran into the apartment, followed by some strange guy!  At 12:30AM, well after the party doors closed at 11PM.

Hosting parties like I do, I have to expect these kinds of things to occasionally happen – and I do – but that doesn’t mean I like it, nor is it acceptable.  Please read the rules I include in each email...like when the parties begin and end.

If you can’t use your phone, and you know this ahead of time, you can email me to ask if you can buzz.  That’s fine.  When this happens, albeit rare, I tell the guy to use the buzzer.  But not to lean on it, rather to quickly tap it.  It’s loud enough to hear without pressing it for seconds.

Please also be sure to never have money or your wallet in your hand.  What are neighbors supposed to think?

The bottom line is, I need to be sure that each and every guy who comes to my parties is “with it” enough to figure this kind of stuff out without being told.  Flakes are gonna flake; and even non-flakes will, from time to time, but the fewer the occurrences, the greater the likelihood our parties will continue, unabated.

There are reasons why I’ve been able to host over 1,000 parties, over seven years, in four different apartments!  And you guys have much to do with that.

Thank you!



The Örgy Guy