Last night, Shauna, my roommate, Ken, and I went to an "Eyes Wide Shut"-themed NYE party at some penthouse overlooking Jersey. Shauna had met the host a few months prior and he invited us out. This was perfect as I was looking to spend as little money as possible while getting as drunk as possible. I don't like spending a lot of money on New Year's Eve (nor ever, really). It's usually dissappointing at best. Amateur night. Those of us who have been partying since we've been walking & who have worked in the industry for way too long - we like to hang low when it comes to paying $300 to clubs we would otherwise get into for free.
(Thomas - the party host, Shauna, some hot guy, and me)
So, the party... There was a dj, a full bar, and table full of sushi and finger foods. It was great. The only thing missing was D - the guy I'm dating. He lives in Chicago, but flew out to Arizona for the big football game Tuesday (whatever that s). We text messaged all night, giving each other the obligatory Happy New Year's shout-outs, west and east coast times.
Some long-haired Jewish guy followed me around the whole night trying to kiss me. I told him I had a boyfriend, but he insisted I wouldn't kiss him because he had bad breath. Sure, whatever works for your ego. Personally, I would just believe the boyfriend line. I would think that realizing you have halitosis would just add to the pain of rejection.
After successfully ditching the Jew, I passed out in some random bedroom in the apartment. I was way too drunk. I've pretty small, so it doesn't take me much. I woke up and two people were having sex on my feet. No big deal. I non-chalantly greeted them (they weren't too formal as you might imagine), and walked out of the room. The makle hosts had, by then, transformed into character, wearing G-Strings and hiking boots. Ever the polite host, one of the G-String mavens asked if I was okay and if I needed anything.
"Just my coat."
We left. I went home and Shauna and Ken went to a bar where they commenced hooking up. They ended up here, but didn't get very far. Shauna and I had spent the first half of the night talking about our sexual adventures in front of Ken. Evidently she felt like a whore in his bed after having divulged some pretty risque and very recent acts. I'm sure Ken would have overlooked the details.
I lugged my camera around all night hoping to get some shots but all I got were three. And of those three, two are exactly the same. I'm pretty pissed that I didn't get a picture of the G-String Crew. Out of all the pictures I could have taken, that would have been the most representative. That, or a picture of the people fucking on my feet.
(Ken and I. Ken is obviously quite sober.)