the biggest houseparty night of the year

One of the great things about Facebook is that a reminder shows up on your homepage when you have an event coming up.  Not that there’s anything wrong with Evite, but when you’re having a houseparty on the biggest houseparty night of the year (i.e., 2 Saturdays before Christmas), you probably want to use resources to your advantage.

This being said, I had 4 parties to attend that night: 2 in Hell’s Kitchen; 1 in Park Slope; and one on Long Island.  Usually in a set of data, one is perfectly justified in nixing an outlier, right (anybody taken stats lately)?  That was my plan, but then like 4 of the boys got all excited about Ligaly Blonde’s party on Long Island a couple of weeks beforehand.  They left me for dead on Labor Day, but they want to come out for the holiday party.  Fine.

[Has anybody else questioned how she can get 30 people to trek from NYC to Westbury, yet I can barely convince 5 people to come to No Parking, which is in Manhattan?  Yeah.]

The day before, I got Bottomless Pitt go agree go with me to all the parties.  I’d slacked off from the gym, so I had to fit in a Saturday workout before the first party (luckily, my gym is right around the corner from Rosebud’s apartment).  Right around 6, I walked into Rosey’s place in desperate need of refreshment (you try dealing with tourists in Times Square on an advent weekend!), but when I opened the fridge, the only mixer I saw was soda water (which I think was a left-over mistake from their last party… tonic water mixes a lot better with vodka).  I put my coat back on and got a bit of mixer, carrying it around with me to make sure randoms didn't use it all (until one of the hostess finally put up the cash to replenish).  Speaking of hostess, I barely got to see Rosey.  But she was busy hosting, and I make it a point to stay out of her bedroom at her parties.  There was a surprising number of straight people present, but then again, one of Rosey’s roommates is straight (or so he claims).  

Rosebud’s roommate’s girlfriend (?) walks past a few of the Ivy Leaguers.

Me: “Oh wow.  That’s quite a pearl necklace you got.  Who gave it to you?”  Why am I such a bitch?

Her (with no pause): “Well, I’ve gotten a few pearl necklaces, but this was actually the first pearl necklace I’ve given myself.” 

I love a hot girl with a quick, witty retort!  Wooorrrrrrrrk!

I had set alarms in my phone so that I knew when we had to leave each party.  Around 9, Bottomless Pitt and I left for ‘Trish’s birthday party.  His ex-twink -boyfriend was there, but not sure what the situation was (I didn’t even bother to ask).  Surprisingly, ‘Trish had upgraded from offering only Vodka and Hawaiian Punch to an option of wine or vodka with various soft drinks! 

He introduced us to the 4 (real) girls that were present, and not long after that, Gubment Cheese showed up.  And she was single!  She regaled us with tales of the divorce and begged me not to leave ‘Trish’s party: “If you leave, seriously, this [gesturing to the girls without looking] is the party.”  She tried to make plans to meet me out in Westbury, which ‘Trish overheard and did not appreciate.  But judging by the pictures on Facebook, it definitely got more male-heavy as the night went on.

After a while, my phone starts ringing.  Who calls people anymore?  Turns out it’s Bitter Commie Grad Student.  I couldn’t stop laughing because I have a hilarious picture for his caller ID.  I’m not sure what happened at Rosey’s, but he was asking where we were.  ‘Trish had no problem adding some testosterone to the mix (at first, he was concerned that he had invited too many people), so I told Bitter Commie to come on along.

Around 10, we said our goodbyes and headed out to Park Slopes for Humanitarian Hottie’s party.  I was extra excited because I hadn't seen this real-girl college friend of mine since the spring (Brooklyn's a long way from WaHi).  She opened the door in a fabulous bejeweled fuchsia party dress, receiving us warmly.  Of course, we were drinking on the train (and at the parties), so we were all a little toasted.  

I got caught up talking to Humanitarian Hottie, her new boyfriend (who lives in Boston, but we like him anyway), and her roommate (a straight Ivy League grad) for a bit, but I talked most with her roommate’s girlfriend.  A very intriguing conversation, but I had basically abandoned Bottomless Pitt and Bitter Commie (who busied themselves by cleaning the cheese that HH had set out in the living room).  Eventually, they made their way over to the kitchen to join us.

 

At 11:25, we almost had time to make the train to Atlantic Ave to catch the 11:39 LIRR train.  But by the time we put on our jackets, said goodbyes and got to the corner, there was no way we could count on the subway.  We spend the next 6 minutes on each side of the street trying to hail a cab.  When we finally got one, he had no idea where this major transit hub, located less than a mile away, was!  Thank you iPhone.

We had 2 minutes to spare, so I bought us tickets at the machine while they stood in the door to make sure we didn’t get stranded in BK.  Out of breath and a bit frazzled, we settled in for the short ride to Jamaica.  The transfer for the train to Westbury took forever, but that wasn’t even the worst part. 

“Bologna!  Can you pick us up?”

“Hey!  HEY!  Is anyone sober enough to drive to pick up Kareem?... Nope, sorry.”

This sounds familiar.  Noted.

Once we got off the train, there were 3 cabs. 

“Where are you going?”

“Right off Old Country Road.”

“Okay, he’s going down road,” pointing to the other cabbie.

We get into the van with two random people.  Yes, we had to share a cab (it’s been a while since I’ve taken a cab out there… I forgot what to expect)!  The middle seat in the van isn’t quite attached to the floor (safety), so the 3 of us piled into the back seat. 

SCRAAAAAPE!

I heard the words “shock absorber,” “drag” (not even the fun kind), and “You can’t drive this car.”  I was livid!  That is, until I found out there was a cab company located directly across the  elevated tracks from us.  Within 15 minutes, Ligaly Blonde was showing us where to put our coats and where to pour our drinks. 

We might have done “Damaged”.  Ligaly Blonde might have disappeared for an hour because he was getting some.  There might have been definitely were a few more drinks poured.  

Around 2:30, things started to wind down (huh?).  I see everyone starting to get situated to sleep, and I start to remember how much my neck hurt the day after I had slept on Ligaly’s couch this summer. 

I see Ivy Leaguers gathering near the door.  That’s right; Morehead’s driving!  Guess that means she’s not hooking up with a certain resident that she’s gone on a few dates with… which makes since after I saw that guy with TSWB syndrome flirting heavily with her.  In. His. House.

Somehow, the boys assessed Morehead as too drunk to drive.  Personally, I wasn’t too excited about having to wait in line to shower.  “She seems good to me.  Peace!” 

Well, Morehead may have taken a couple of curves a bit fast, but I definitely didn’t feel unsafe.  We had a nice chat on the way back, and I was at my place before 4! 

Apparently, the party wasn't over when we left. 

Did I mention that TTT wanted to do brunch the next day?  Yeah.  

To experience my first trek to Westbury, click here.

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