This past Sunday saw Twisted Life kick off the summer party season with “One Big F&%$in Deck Party” presented by Twisted Life and hosted by Gage Kris. In case you weren’t there, I’ve compiled a handy listicle of some of the highlights.

Ten Things I Loved About One Big F%&$n Deck Party

1. Deborah Cox, y’all. De. Bo. Rah. Cox. No bones about it, this chanteuse — her attitude, her songs, her style, her pipes, her fierceness (are we still saying “fierce”? Has “fetch” happened yet?) – she made the party. Bringing it direct to the dance floor at Taylor’s, Cox delivered faithful renditions of the club hits that made her famous, with some tunes off her new album tossed in for good measure. You haven’t seen fags go wild until you’ve seen Deborah Cox do the “Standing heeeeeeeeere –oh-oh-oh-oh-oh—No, nobody, no, no-no-no-nobody, a-ooooo” thing, live, from six feet away. And with that many people in the room, it was a marvel that no one offered up a reasonable explanation of How We Did Get Here (nobody’s s’posed to be here).

2. Bartender Leanne kept our posse American with enough Apple Pie shots to make Uncle Sam slip into a diabetic coma.

3. Speaking of shots, there was a tasty bit of homina-homina straight out of a Greek sculpture garden carrying around a tray of ’em. Since I was there with my boyfriend, I barely noticed the guy’s meaty arms, casaba booty-melon, baby face, or generous supply of tattoos dotting the tanned landscape of his massive 6’4 frame and spilling out from the merest suggestion of a black tank top. Or something. Like I said I wasn’t really looking.
4. The sounds that greeted us upon our arrival at Taylor’s hearkened back to Deborah Cox’s turn-of-the-millennium heyday, with generous helpings of house bangers from the likes of Madison Ave, Shannon, and Kim English. It was very “Give Me Unspeakable Joy Tonight, But Don’t Call Me Baby.”
5. Miss Cyoni told me the secret behind her Dharling name, which I will carry to the grave, wrapped in a Hermès scarf. (Hint: there is no secret)

6. As advertised, Taylor’s is indeed possessed of one big f&%$n deck, but not for nothin’ I’ve seen bigger.
7. Towards the end of the evening, the inebriate behind this very keyboard decided to slurrily chat up one party-promoting Gage Kris, and then walked away with only a dim recollection that a conversation had indeed taken place, and nothing more. I’m sure it was delightful and befitting the bond between Facebook friends.
8. Food! It was there! I’ve been told on occasion that I eat “like someone just released from a cage”, so I spared the gathering my unfortunate table manners and saved room for dessert – Apple Pie.
9. Here’s to the ladies in the bunch. We love you nearly as much as we brotherly-love ourselves. A gay old time could not have been had Sunday without our girlfriends, whether they were diva-ing out onstage, cracking jokes with us, inviting us to gawk at their decolletage, faux-grinding with us on the dance floor, sassing us from behind the bar, or just giving excellent face.
10. Last but not least, it’s important to recognize the efforts of the many designated drivers who kept us alive while we punished our livers in the icy, far-off tundra of New Jersey. Philadelphia could not have sent its exploratory mission to Cherry Hill without sober folks to drive our tipsy asses back home. We owe y’all a debt of gratitude, to be paid in reciprocal designated drives, at some hazy point in the distant future, maybe.