On a recent night, I made an appearance at a party I have been putting off for about a year. Well, it wasn't this specific party, there were several parties thrown by this particular host that I have been avoiding due to a fear of Brooklyn, or better plans.
In the process of deciding on whether or not to ditch again, I stood there texting on the subway steps to a friend who was waiting for me uptown. When I was approached by:
Guy 1: Is she calling you?
Guy 2: Are you calling me?
Me: That doesn't make any sense what so ever.
Guy 1 proceeded to the street.
Guy 2: I like your stockings, are those orange lines?
Me: No, it's red. See? (Leg out.)
Guy 2: O it looked like orange.
Me: Nope, red.
Then it was chat chat chat.
Me: Well, I have to go, I think I'm gong to this Brooklyn party?
Guy 2: The loft party?
Me: Yes! Your invited to that too?
Guy 2 shows me an invite on his phone.
Moral of this story: I took this as a sign from the stars. Guy 2 tipped the scale.
After exiting the Bedford Ave. stop I followed verbal instructions to a friend's apt. Then it was getting to the party. On route I learned that a person in our group and I had a common enemy. O how lovely that was. She was more irate at this person than I. She claimed that this person was a rapist due to a certain colorful blog entry he wrote. And although this person is on my blacklist I attempted to explain that, he used a distasteful analogy, that he simply does not own a mouth filter, that he'll say any old thing, regardless how it affects others. And sure, I would love to push his belly button in really hard because he belongs in a zoo. But rapist, he is not.
Anybes, at arrival of this party I knew. I knew it was not my scene. How to describe? It was a sweaty jungle. This was not the hipsters crowd, because I can deal with the hipsters. There was an older gentleman with grey dreads that looked like a pirate. Enough said?
With a $4 drink in my hand, I thought, lets see. After let's see a guy from our group told me that:
Guy: You know, you look like Leighton Meester.
Me: Who's that?
Guy: The brunette from 'Gossip Girl.'
Me: The bitchy one?
Guy: Yeahh, but you're sweet and nice.
Me: You don't know me yet.
The two of us laughed, but I had another secret laugh going on since before going out, I watched the 'Good Girls Go Bad,' music video, which is featured by Miss Meester, who inspired my makeup for the evening. If they only knew.
If only the party resembled this video, even slightly, I would have been a very happy girl.
At one point a member of the group who was with us, strut over and told the guy I was talking with to open his hand.
Guy: What do you have?
Girl places a pill in guy's hand.
My thoughts: O lawd please let that be an over sized tic-tac.
Twenty minutes or so later guy asked me what my views on drugs were.
Me: I don't do the drugs, but I have no problem with other people that do.
Guy: Good, cuz I took the pill. It's in here. (Rubs stomach.)
Me: What was that?
He said something weird.
Me: What does that mean?
Guy: It's like E.
My thoughts: O Jesus!
Seven minutes after:
Me: Well, I think I'm going to go.
Guy: Is it because I took the drugs?
Me: What! Nooooo. (A beat) I have friends waiting for me. Where can I find a cab from here?
While I put my coat on outside a Mr. Jacket approached to find out where the cabs were to be found.
Me: I have no idea. I was told to go right from the front door.
The two of us commenced to walk right.
Mr. Jacket: If you don't mind me asking how did you make it out to that party?
Me: I had class with one of the hosts and I have a couple friends back there. But I had no idea it was going to be like that. You?
Mr. Jacket: Well, it's kinda sad actually.
Me: Tell it.
Mr. Jacket: I didn't know anyone there. I'm on a work trip, and my friends were busy tonight. I found out about it through this e-mail thing.
Me: O who cares? There isn't anything wrong with that. (I spotted a number of hasidic women with their young daughters across the way.) Common let's see if we're headed towards cabs.
Mr. Jacket: I don't think they're gonna talk to us.
Me: Why not? (As I crossed the street.)
One of the lovely hasidic women gave me a cab number, which for some insane reason I still remember? 917-834-4444. (At least I think that's it.) I dialed, but before the call went through, three cabs drove up. Problem solved. In side the cab it was:
Mr. Jacket: Well where to? If I get a receipt for this, the company I work for will reimburse me.
My thoughts: That sounds nice.
Me: Soho, my car is parked there. I think I'm gonna call it a night.
On the ways to Soho Mr. Jacket commenced to tell me about this open at all hours bakery, Sugars. He told me about their hazelnut steamed milk. And I thought, yes, I want that.
Me: You want to go?
Mr. Jacket: To Sugars?
At Sugars we sat with hazelnut steamed milk and velvet cupcakes before us as we discussed how out of place we were at that party.