After trekking through Time Square—imagine the horror and frenzy of 42nd Street on any given day except more drunk, homophobic and with everyone costume clad—we finally reached our destination.

But unfortunately, if there was a party happening in the VIP room the 26-lane bowling behemoth, someone forgot to mention it to the staff. The bouncers had no clue.

Just as we were about to leave, a cashier suggested we check the private party room. “Oh you went through the straight entrance,” someone remarked later in the night.

Normally Wood produces some of the raunchiest parties in town. I was excited to see John Cameron Mitchell and Alan Cumming, Ladyfag, Linda Simpson, a few go-go boys, a long line and a lot of inappropriate behavior. Instead, I walked into a bowling alley.

Once inside the party space, the atmosphere changed drastically for the better. Although the dark lounge was far from crowded, sexy bearded guys, dressed in homage to Tom of Finland drawings, danced to the rhythms of Spank’s SeanB and Will Automagic while others bowled in the free lanes.

At the bar, I ordered Coronas and tequila shots (a necessity at this point). If there was an open bar and free vodka shots as advertised, I missed them.

Perhaps, we arrived too early, but if we’d already missed the open bar, we couldn’t have been there that early, right?

The door bunny offered little refuge. When I mentioned my outrageous bar tab of $150—a total that seemed incongruent with the amount of fun I wasn’t having—he deadpanned, “sounds like you have a personal problem.”

Honey, the problem was with the personnel.