Jan 2, 200711.30am , swimming in the turquoise water near Cancun , Mexico.
2.14pm. boarding on a plane for Philadelphia , PA.
7.01pm boarding on 3 different trains to reach NY , NY.
9.55pm on our way to a New Year's party in Brooklyn .
Why am I telling you all that? It's not like it was a really complicated trek –granted a gruesome one- nor that I am about to rave about attending the party of the year. But I still would like to share with you what I called my 2006 New Year's Eve bash…
The thing is, I'm not really into parties that are more packed than a Sunday at Wallmart and that cost $150 for the all-you-can-drink, especially because in my case, all I can drink is half a glass of wine before looking deeply intoxicated. I then naturally planned on crashing a private party, the kind with less people to push on your way to the temporary bar made out of four chairs and the bathroom door. And as far as meeting the host, well, just backtrack a couple of pages...
The problem with online dating is that you are as soon forgotten as a deleted email. It is a bit like warming up your food in the microwave: it gets hot pretty fast, and cold even faster. With that in mind, try to imagine His face when He opened the door: We hadn't spoken in 3 weeks, I had flown to Paris, Miami and Mexico and had told Him I would not be reachable during these trips. But who cares about what I say anyway? So back to the party I was "sort of invited to." Passed the surprised He seemed genuinely happy, and genuinely drunk too. We lingered there for a bit, staring at each other by the entrance wondering who should start to feel uncomfortable first. And then She saved us all, walking towards Him and looking like she had just sipped a whole bathtub worth of homemade whiskey. She stumbled and pushed Him somewhere between the couch and the Ikea frame, deciding it was time for a well deserved make out session.
I took advantage of this brief clearance of the entrance door and eased my way into the apartment, straight to the bar/bathroom door.
11.25pm. 35 minutes to go and I don't know anyone besides my two friends.
11.35pm and a vodka tonic later we're dancing in the living room to some poppy sound. It's funny how Americans don't seem to dance at parties and Europeans never seem capable of talking without convulsing to the beat of whatever they recognize first. You don't believe me? Gather a room full of Italians or French, blast out some 80's music and watch them all joyfully jump up and down, shout all the words out of tune with tears of pride in their eyes, holding each other like they were already friends when that song came out. Now they are ready to meet each other. But this is an American party and we're only 3 French shaking it on the dance floor, soon followed by a Turkish couple (…see?)
11.48pm , everyone is sent to the roof when I get held back by some hairy hand and quickly sent sitting down on a chair. A guy called Conan, (thank God his name is not spelled with a K) jumps in and proceeds to what his buddies call a lap dance but what to me resembles more an epileptic attack. As the guitar solo kicks in, he bends over and whispers in my ear "don't be afraid, we both know we'll end up together before the end of the night." I'd laugh but I am scared that if I open my mouth something that has not been invited will sneak in.
11.56pm someone I will never thank enough puts me out of my misery and drags all the belated guests to the roof so we can admire the fireworks. My lap-dancer, whom I now gather is also throwing the party, starts the countdown for everyone. 10…9….8…(let go of my shoulder, please)…7… 6….(hands off my waist too if you actually want to make it to 2007)…5…4…(look up! A flying snowman! Escape missed) …3…(closer)....2…(closer)….1 (too close)
Happy New Year!!!!
His starts with an elbow in his gums, mine with a missing elbow and a partial view of the fireworks hidden behind the building across the street.
"2006, Year of the Shit" had said the Chinatown psychic. "2007, Very-Very-Lucky-give me-5-dollars-even-more-lucky" now started to feel like a rip off. Although granted that he had been sort of right for the first part. 12.32am, January 1st, 2007. I am walking home under the rain, repeating to myself that it can only go up from here.
No comments:
Post a Comment