You stopped calling me; you must be in love.

This particular Friday was the date of SoHo Crush’s big Obama fundraiser ($15 donation = food and driiiiiink at his huge loft).  He had told me to invite as many people as possible, which I did (about 70 people in all).  Did I mention we “broke up” between the time I sent out the facebook invites and the time of the party?  Yeah.

The night before, I had mentioned the break up casually among some friends (but it wasn't the subject of the convo), and one of them had missed the memo.  I decided on Friday morning to send out a brief email to the people that had confirmed: “Excited about tonight, blah blah blah, SoHo and I aren’t together but we’re friendly, I’ll be there around 8:15.”  Basically, I was avoiding a, “How long have you guys been together?” or a “When are you gonna send me the xtube link?” at the party.  Awkard much?

A sampling of some of the replies to my email:

"lord knows if the breakup was not amicable, i would be cursing the bejesus out of him. what are friends for?"

"I second that... I can make a nasty shiv out of the New York Times if I'm in a bind."

"On your cue, I promise you lots of broken glass."

"btw, don't forget I'm puerto rican...us and knives, we get along ;) That's my contribution."

"As the token WASP (err, catholic, but whatev) I apparently am only good for staining fine fabrics as a means to revenge. But that would def. piss a homo off!"

Wow.

The party is already busy by the time I get there.  SoHo Crash (SoHo Crush's temporary roommate) gives me the longest hug ever and points me in the direction of SoHo Crush.  We exchange a friendly greeting, and I make a quick exit to get a drink. 

All of the cups had little Obama pictures pasted onto them.  In color. 

Flashback: When we were “together,” SoHo Crush and I joked at length about my lactose intolerance (he might be the first guy that consistently remembered when we ate together). 

Tonight: All of the finger sandwiches have cheese on them. Thanks.

Eventually, more of my friends show up.  France Pants pulls over some tall slender black guy with blonde hair (unfortunately, he wasn’t Sysqo) and introduces me.  Turns out he’s “a friend of SoHo Crush's.”  O RLY?

“A few months ago, he stopped calling me, and I said, ‘You stopped calling me; you must be in love.’ And he said, ‘Eh, yeah.’” (The ‘Eh yeah.’ is kind of hard to convey in text, but it was somewhere between sort of and yes.)

Someone please make me a drink.  PLEASE!

“What do you mean we’re out of Vodka?!”

D. Kareem saves the day by looking in the freezer.  Dina Lohands grabs the last bottle, slurring with glee, and starts pouring very stiff drinks for the Ivy League Crew et. al.  “Honey, save some for her.  She’s an actual friend of the host.” 

After SoHo Crush got back from the emergency liquor run, he make an announcement.  It’s something along the lines of “thanks for coming, vote Obama, blah blah blah, and I’m available.”  Yes, he ended his speech with, “I’m available.”  It’s like one of those movies where he said it, and they’re shooting my face.  Then it echoes and they show a closer shot of my face.  Then it echoes again, and they show an even closer black-and-white shot of my face.  I really didn’t react to it visibly, but about 20 girls came running over like, “Oh my god!  Can you believe he said that!" and "Do you need me to throw something?  How about steal?”  Bitch shut up!  Half the party knows we just broke up, and they’re all looking over here thinking I’m talking trash right now (or feeling sorry for myself).  Thanks.

Even after going out for a late liquor run, all the booze (a rumored 20 bottles of vodka in total plus wine and probably beer) is gone by 10:30.  Urban Sprawl and BRITney insist that the new gay night in WaHi isn't tonight, so I suggest that we go by the place and check.  “If it’s not tonight, we just go to No Parking.”  For some reason, nobody can get it together for like 10 minutes.  “If these bitches wanna stay at a party that has been declared over and kicked, they're welcome to do so.  But I'm not the one.  They’re big girls; they can figure it out.”  With that, I power walk to the train with Arm'n'Hammer and Bottomless Pitt, who has packed a flask.  To an open bar party.  Not that I didn’t take a few swigs for the ride; I’m just sayin’!

We arrive at the corner of 171^st and Broadway.

“Is that it? It looks like a restaurant.”

“It probably is.  They do that up here.  The best is El Nuevo Corazón’s Saturday Night Karaoke.  I’ll just go ask the bouncer what kind of party it is.”

I felt like it was some kind of secret mission or something.  I walked up to the bouncer, who promptly asked for my ID.

“What kind of party is it tonight,” I asked in a hushed voice, Bottomless Pitt and Arm'n'Hammer keeping their distance.

“Gay.”
Score.  We’re in!

It was actually a really fun party.  The drinks were reasonably priced (with occasional $4-for-the-next-10-minutes specials), and the music was great (same DJ as No Parking on Sat and the hip hop room at Escándalo Nights).  It eventually got pretty crowded, especially once just about everyone whom I had brought to SoHo’s Party arrived (basically everybody except for Urban Sprawl and BRITney). 

Did I mention tOWGA had IMed me out of nowhere earlier that day and ended up coming to the bar?  Yeah.

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