All The Cool Kids Sets The Story Straight On New York’s Savage Drunks
Dear Ms. Cheever,
I’ve been meaning to write you all day. The problem is, I am hungover.
It appears we live in different parts of New York. Last night, in fact, I was at multiple parties where people were drunk.
There was a woman dressed in red at our second party. I remember her because she had a beautiful body under that dress. And she wanted everyone to notice. We did, though we were polite enough to pretend like we didn’t.
But you remind me. There are things that happened this weekend that I am likely to forget. In this mess of the celebratory winter season, it’s hard to get everyone in one place. But late in the evening on the thirteenth of December, our disparate groups converged in the East Village.
There were lots of homemade pigs in blankets to be eaten, a gracious host with an inordinant amount of autobiographical Christmas ornaments on his tree and a stumbling group of Santas and Mrs. Clauses wandering around the place friskily.
There were partygoers in varying states of inebriation. Some, I’m sure of it, must have been sober. But there wasn’t time to hold that against them. We were too busy enjoying each other’s company.
There were boys following girls around the apartment. A papaya menorah magically lit for seven minutes. A woman in a Santa suit straddled another partygoer. The woman with the red hair flashed her tits. Again.
Girls fought over our best named Internet mogul, despite and because of his questionable fashion sense.
“Are you saying I’m not drunk?” the man once dressed as Santa charged before going to search for his mustache. Obama had stolen it. Again. Slippery sucker.
Our mascot was running around with a glove on one hand. Actually, it was an “Ove’ Glove.” And even in his diminished state, this man. He knew. It ought to have been called an Oven Gloven.
He drank an entire bottle of rose. This was perhaps his best/worst idea ever.
It was Saturday night. We spilled our drinks, we danced in slo-motion and we remembered why we live in this big, cold city. Because our friends, the lot of them, are big hearted, loveable drunks. And we love ‘em, every one.
If there were a year or a season that New Yorkers were not drunk, it would not be now. Some of us may be unemployed. Those with jobs are quickly learning that their employers might be saying goodbye soon. Even though they don’t want to. And for once, those of us on the bottom tier of the New York City food chain have wisdom to impart with those still, or formerly, on top.
But it’s the Christmas season. And there is far more eggnog, familial guilt and general merriment to be had in these waining days of 2008.
Some day, in the course of life’s events, this will all slow down. There are already signs. Blondes are having babies. Some of us responsibly go home before sunrise on school nights. We tend to floss now.
The day will come, of course, when we will all be old. The parties will slow down, or start to include things like dinner. But when that time does arrive, I hope that we can still remember back to these nights we once had and remember them fondly, instead of the alternative. Assuming that the rest of the world has gotten old with us.
Onward to tonight’s party.
- allthecoolkids:(via johncarney)
Source: allthecoolkids
