Thank god he wasn't there to take a picture, because the image of me crying at The Cock in New York City would be just too pathetic for words.

I don't remember any details. Hmm, let's think of the reasons why. Oh, right, the boxed wine at my friend's apartment on Avenue A, the Stella at some random corner restaurant, the countless mixed drinks that made tolerable the karaoke party we crashed, and, of course, the perfunctory beer at The Cock that I definitely did not need.

Now, don't even ask why I was there. It had to have been at least 4 a.m. and, having nothing better to do other than return to my friend's apartment and responsibly pass out, I journeyed inside to meet a friend. Everyone was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, and my hand somehow obtained a beer, and my friend kept mentioning my Web site and other bullshit, and I was just like, "Why are you talking about my blog? Where is Bradford?" And my friend's friend was getting antsy and they left and I was all alone and that was when I started to weep uncontrollably.

Sometimes it helps to have a good cry, but this was a little much, even for me. So I left The Cock and proceeded to do the next most illogical thing, rivaled in senselessness only by my deciding to go to The Cock in the first place. That's right, I called everyone in my cell phone. At 5 a.m. Still crying. And can you believe that no one answered? My friends sure are crappy.

In any event, the good news is that I am back in The DC, fully loaded. Just in time for Pride Week, too. Because, you know, we all have just so much to be proud of, particularly VIVIDBLURRY.COM, HELL YEAH.