you don’t want too many stereotypes at one party

Friday was a housewarming for a friend of the Ivy League Crew (an actual girl!) in the Upper East Side (the actual Upper East Side).  I had also been invited to a fashion show on Friday afternoon as a part of Fashion Week NY in Bryant Park.  I slept walked through the slow day at work and cut out early to catch the glamour, having a drink with some very interesting people in the Cellar (an beautiful bar below the Bryant Park Hotel!).  A friend of the friend who had invited me happened to be the owner of Metro Naps, and he gave me great advice on my impending disco nap!

I woke up refreshed, but I was a good 2 hours late for the party.  I threw on my outfit from the fashion show and shot myself over to the Upper East Side with surprising speed.  As soon as I walked in, everyone’s screaming my name like I’m some kind of celebrity.  Apparently, my look was a hit, even with Bitter Commie Grad Student.  “And I don’t just throw compliments around, you know.”  Oh, we know.

I had packed a nice lil Gatorade bottle of “orange juice” that I worked on through the course of the party.  At one point, an Asian guy solved a Rubix cube, which I found hilarious.  I was going to start rapping and break dancing, but you don’t want too many stereotypes at one party.

Luckily CoLaw is good at math, too in law school.

Well, after a while, it was time to leave.  The gays wanted to go dance, and the straights wanted to go stand in line to a straight club.  We lost significant presence because both Urban Sprawl and Bottomless Pitt were indulging straight people that night, but MicHELLe and I hopped in a cab and went across town to Suite.

I had suggested Suite because the DJ is cool (yet hot!), and Friday nights are a little more laid back without the drag show.  We arrived to find that they had switched the drag night, but Britney Houston always gives a good show. 

Remember how last time we went to Suite, Bunifa was the one trying to upstage the drag queen.  Well, this time, it was Dina LoHands.  From the moment he walked in, I had to be like, “Honey, let the diva do her thing.  No, calm down; it’s her show.”  We almost had to change her name that night because her hands were everywhere.  “Dina, people don’t want you to touch them.  Hands to yourself, hun.” 

[insert hilarious make-out picture]

Well, looks like not everyone wants to be left alone.  I stand corrected.  (Dear iPhone: Please have a flash.  Love, D. Kareem)

This is what happens when you feed the gays alcohol and play “Lady Marmalade”. 

Dina, hun, I think we're leaving.  Dina?  DINA!

Oh boy.

 

Ugly lights!  RUN!  Who turns on the Ugly Lights at 3am?!  Honestly.  Did I mention the restaurant next door has a happy hour 2-4am (and a very aggressive marketing strategy)?  Yeah.