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June 25, 2010
From 6/24

The place is called The Frying Pan, near Chelsea Piers, a semi-sunken bar/ship crammed with fully-drunken revelers. It is, after all, about 7:30, which means that they've been happy houring for at least two.

About 20 minutes later, more friends, a married straight couple, join and immediately they raise eyebrows and agree this isn't the place for us. We make reservations for dinner at East of Eighth, a Chelsea restaurant that caters to a mostly gay clientele. Once there, at a large table in the back garden, we feel at home. The pressure to "fit in" is off.