i miss who we used to be....

So I know it seems that all I do is party and somehow manage to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep during my heavy libation-influenced schedule. For the majority of the summer, it was exactly that. Party Sleep Party was a motto that I had established to sum up exactly what I wanted my last real summer to be. After graduation, I knew that come Autumn, I would have to settle down and start living my life as a certified adult. Getting your diploma doesn't mean you're done. It's all about "commencing" your life and other stupid, dumbass phrases that valedictorian use to hide the shame and fear that all graduates experience.  So before I embarked on the repetitive journey of boredom, fatigue, and nausea that is adulthood, I decided  to have a farewell party that just happened to last four months.
  And you better believe that those four months were awesome. Sure there were ups and downs, but when I look back on it, I think that I was living my life every second of every day. But once September rolled in, I decided I needed to re-evaluate my current predicament. I looked around and my fellow graduates were off to their fancy pants nine to fives or registering for classes at their graduate schools. Some were studying for GREs, MCATS, and other acronyms that I have no idea what they stand for. Bitches traded their Uggs for trousers! And where was I?  I had not accomplished anything this summer, besides gain weight and get  a tan. Neither of which were going to help me in the long run (Skin cancer is no joke kids. Layer that sunscreen). So I decided to be proactive. I got an internship at a film/television production company. I also started working more hours at my part-time job at a New York University office. I was finally planning for my future. Sure my grandiose goals of beings a screenwriter/actor/director/producer/philantropist might not be realized in my hum-drum coffee runs, but maybe a little Hollywood magic would sprinkle over me and someone would see my infinte potential and buy my first feature.
        For the first time in months, I had adopted a rigid schedule. There was no more "Hey, there's a party in DUMBO. Open Bar, you down?" I was a member of the party on weekends club; the club I vehemently despised during my summertime high. Members of this group are so unhappy and are lacking of spunk during the weekdays, they muster up the small bit of energy they have left to come party on a Friday/Saturday night. These people can be easily identified by the flip flops they don, the stringy hair, and the lack of hygiene they seem to possess. I hate these people. During the summer, I never partied on weekends. I was the girl who was down for a Tuesday party session. I went out every Thursday and my Wednesdays would commence with trivia at 8pm at my favorite bar and end with me eating hard dough bread in my bed at 6am (that story I will save for another time, but let me warn you, it is EPIC).
          Now if you asked me to catch a drink after work on a Wednesday, I would have to respond "Oh no, I have a pilates class". Oh yes, in my attempt to grow up, I got a gym membership. I've got to take care of my old, creaking bones. Soon I'll be taking vitamin supplements and carrying hard candies in my purse. Wait, I already do those things. I have officially crossed over to the dark side, where all my enjoyment will come from people giving me their seat on the bus and disciplining other people's children. What was supposed to be a graceful entrance into adulthood that should have spanned over two years,  turned into a mental hijacking that developed in less than 3 months. It was this realization, coupled with a phone call from my bestie Bridget, whom I hadn't seen in months, that set me off. She basically said " I miss who we used to be. We used to go out every night". I miss who we used to be as well. I wanted to enjoy life again. The apocalypse is waiting in the wings and instead of carpe diem and other latin phrases that have been immortalized on t-shirts and mugs, I have been squandering my youth. I don't want to wake up and be forty with kids and realize I never lived to the fullest of my abilities. I want to get shit-faced. I want to make out with random guys and regret it the next morning. I want have that Sunday walk of shame, wearing hooker heels, and copious amounts of black lace, while my face is creased by the faux pillow I slept on the night before. I want to go home with make up  running down my face and devouring a falafel, while children are on their way to school. Sure these things might not get me far in life. They probably would put me in a jail cell. But hey, that's why your best friend's mom is a police officer (Hey Bev! I need Bail money).
         So in the spirit of regaining my summertime high, I decided to plan an awesome dance party. I wanted all my friends to come out and dance till the wee hours of the morning and be so elated that they'd be singing show tunes on the way home. I sent out the Facebook invites, the emails, and shitloads of text messages. It was supposed to be a girl's night out, but somehow the boys made it through. No worries though, because the more the merrier in this kind of scenario. I wanted to go to Arlo and Esme, because every time I've been there, I have had a good time. We pregamed at Julianne's place and we (Julianne, Kayla, Doreen, Sonia, Allen, and myself) tracked down two cabs and headed to the LES. However, when we got there, the bouncer said they weren't letting anyone in for another hour. Are you kidding? In another hour, I'll be sober. Fuck that. So we went to some weird hookah bar, where my gay night-life lover (again I'll save him for another story) got us in. Soon after arriving, the fumes and the seedy atmosphere got me and we had to bounce. Now I should mention, my entire party was pretty buzzed. I had been drinking with Sonia, my fellow intern, since 7pm, and I hadn't eaten since 3pm. A recipe for awesomeness. Seeing the momentum was slowing, I suggested we all head to Darkroom. On our way we ran into Melissa and Harold and our gang was almost complete. However when we got there, there was a muthafuckin line! WTF? This night was going to be disastrous.
        Now usually in moments like this, if the universe sends me signs that the night is going to be a shitshow, I heed the commands of nature and get my ass home. This time, howbeit, I was too determined to beat  Mother Nature at her own tricks. Here's a lesson to all you kiddies reading this at home: Nature always win. Why I forgot this principle can be attributed to the amount of ethanol coursing through my veins. Luckily, I knew one of the bouncers there. When I tell you I used to go out every night, I mean it. There are certain members of the night life community that I have built relationships with regardless of what bar they work at that specific night. So my dude let us in and skip the stupid line. Thank the heavens. We get in there but the DJ is whack. The sound system sounds like they boosted it straight out of an elementary school auditorium. Fuck it. As long as he plays my song, what do I care?
       We start dancing and then Naimah calls me and tells me she's outside. So of course I go and get her so she doesn't have to wait on a stupid line. Once I'm back on the dancefloor, Doreen tells me her boo, Dave, is outside and if I could get him in. Sure, why not? I get out into the breezy, chill air and cannot find Dave. After playing hide and go seek for five minutes, I finally discover him and get him in as well. While I was gone apparently the interior dancefloor bouncer (as if they pay him) says they we can't put our jackets down. We either have to hold them or pay coat check. According to him, I can't even dance next to my jacket. So this prick, who doesn't realize that we're the reason anyone is in his club, is trying to tell us what to do. Party Foul Number One. At the same time when I'm giving him the brush off, Doreen tells me that Allen, Julianne's boyfriend, got kicked out of the bar. Apparently he had a conversation with the DJ and the bouncer felt that it was inappropriate. Yes I know that sounds farfetched but we were all drunk. If Doreen had told me that Allen farted chickens on the Bouncer's lap, I would've pulled out my barbecue sauce and bib that says "Where the beef?". So don't judge me!
   Since I'm such a good friend, I hightailed it outside to be joined by Dave who is trying to debrief me on the situation. After talking to him for five minutes, I used my Sherlock skills to assess that he knew nothing. So we left Julianne to decipher the drama and returned into the bar to be greeted by several cops. And I mean several. Like at least seven. Now in my younger days, police officers showing up to your party meant hiding the liquor and sending out the most sober of the bunch to explain to the law enforcers their need for a warrant to search the premises. Basically, "party dun!" And apparently the DJ agreed because the music stopped and the crowd filtered out. Now my gang remained because 1) we're cool like that and 2) Allen was MIA. Julianne returned to the bar sans Allen, who apparently had been wearing my coat. Yes, folks, we were so inebriated that my frilly looking coat seemed appropriate for him to wear inside out. I can't blame him. This night was my idea. So in my frustration I asked the Popos what the problem seemed to be. The female copper replied "Nothing. We're waiting for the music to start again". Typical, even the police officers have more fun than me nowadays.
          Eventually the music did start again and $3 shots were offered to the masses. Nonetheless, I was done. I wanted this night to be about regaining my youth and to be one for the history books. I wanted this to be the night when we're thirty and old, we would look back on this night and recall the days when we "lived". This was not that night. So I accepted defeat and took a cab home that cost me fifty bucks. I crawled into bed without food in my belly but enough alcohol to kill an elephant, or at least sedate him for two hours.
          Maybe I can't go back to those blissful days of summer, but I don't think I have to start wearing muumuus, cleaning the dishes barefoot, while watching Maury. There has to be some middle ground where I can salvage my youth without destroying my future. There must be somewhere where I'm not at the starting point of nascency but I'm not yet at the finish line of decrepitude. It has to exist. And I think I know where it does. Somewhere between Sunday and Saturday---here I come Wednesday.

Skinny ties and opaque tights...

Technically the fete didn't take place during the summer. Doreen's birthday is October 1st, but I was still decked out in my usual miniskirt and awkwardly revealing top. I did have the decency to wear tights at least. The opaque kind in fact. I had begun to abandon the notion that Party Sleep Party was only limited to the summer months. Without a real job, career, or any mouths to feed, what was there to stop me from transplanting my hedonistic tendencies from the warm summer months to the cool fall. When it starts to get cold outside there's nothing that I crave more than a warm chunky, knit sweater and a shot of Jack Daniels. So with my newfangled understanding of the seasons, I headed to Doreen's celebration at this bar called Anchor. Strangely enough I had never been there and neither had any of my friends. The reviews on Yelp described it as a B and T crowd with pretentious yuppies thrown in the mix. It's because of scenes like this that I don't party above 14th street. However Anchor is located in the west village and we thought it must have some sort of redeeming quality.

 I headed to the bar with my bestie Julianne and Kayla. As we rode in the cab, still tingling from our pregame session, we berated the cab driver who tried to play us. One thing anyone should know about me and my friends: we don't take shit. If you're my friend, you must have thick skin and most likely be a bitch (this goes for the men as well). Now there are different types of bitches. There are those who are outwardly messed up and will say slick shit all the time. And then there are others who seem to be angels but their motives are downright mean girl-like. Now I don't mean that my friends are bad people. They are some of the most loving and generous people I know and I love them all dearly. We just don't censor ourselves and we don't believe in being fake. That is what defines you as a bitch in this world; having the cojones to actually say what you mean.

   When we finally arrived to the bar, we headed towards the back to see our belle of the ball, Dee, dressed to the nines. Now one thing you should know about Doreen is that she is the cutest thing ever. She is this tiny girl with a fashion sense to rival Anna Della Russo. She can wear anything and look amazing, but when she decides to put in that extra fifteen minutes of prep, she's a fucking stunner. With that being said, when I arrived, instead of giving Dee props on her long sleeved, no back, black studded mini dress and banging heels, I'm staring at Dave, her boyfriend. Well technically Dave and Jason, another member of the crew. Now I'm used to seeing Dave in ripped jeans and flannel shirts. I've never thought Dave looked bad, he just had this laid back, "I don't give a fuck" attitude that I've always liked. Jason is always styling though. Once my best friend Bridget called me just to tell me she peeped Jase outside an HSBC looking like a Burberry ad in a trench coat and mean looking shades. It was so serious that she stopped banking to let me know. Haha. But tonight the boys went over and  beyond. They were dressed as fucking sex bombs. Now don't get it twisted, I'm not trying to fuck my homies; but that night I would have considered it. I mean they were beautiful. Fucking beautiful. I couldn't get over it.  I felt like a dipshit standing next to them. Apparently there was a bbm sent through the BDN network ( an inside group with initials I won't disclose here) and it basically summed up to "Suit Up". They rolled in looking like ethnic James Bonds with skinny ties. 

    Once I got over my awe and picked my jaw off the slimy dance floor, I proceed to get a drink and regain some semblance of being cool. Now the crowd that night was basically what Yelp had described. I saw pink button downs and polos with the collars up. I saw a great number of white man's overbites and boat shoes. But funny enough, what could have been a horrible night, was probably the best party of my extended summer. It was one of those nights when regardless of what went wrong, I was still having a good time. Now this probably partially due to the amount of vodka cranberries and tequila shots I consumed, but I think something more was at work.

          When you have such a large group of friends, it's very rare to have a night out where drama does not occur. There's always someone who's upset and bringing the vibe down. I've probably been that person on many occasions, but at least I have the courtesy of leaving the bar instead of bringing everyone down with me. That night every single one of my friends, a group of twenty or more, were floating on the same wavelength. We just danced the night away. Nothing bothered me. Nothing bothered us. Not even the girl I had to bitch out when she cut in front of me on the line for the bathroom. The more fucked up thing is that I let Julianne cut in after I made that slut move. I told you I was a bitch.

        We danced from midnight till four in the morning and proceeded to tipsy drive home in Akasha's whip. I think I even got into an argument with my mom when I got home. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she was making breakfast and my dad was ironing pants, when I staggered home in my stilettos, reeking of Patron at five am. I was so furious that my attempt to sneak into my house was foiled by both my parents, that I  briskly passed her while she asked " Is this the time you usually come home?" , grabbed my car keys and ran out the house while she yelled "And you're going to drive!". I vented to Ashley who live a couple blocks away and I was giving her a ride home. I was just so upset that they had been awake at 5am. What responsible adult is awake at 5 am on a Saturday? I later found out that they we're on their way to Washington, DC to march in a rally against health care cutbacks. My parents, the do-gooders, birthed an alcoholic with a severe disconnect with reality.Go Figure.

    Regardless of my mother's disapproval and my father's acknowledgment that my partying ways come from my mother's side (I get it from them both), I look back on that night with a smile, one of those cheesy kinds that appear frequently in romantic comedies. I think what made that night so special was not only the babes and blokes that I spent it with, but the fact that the summer didn't have to end. Party Sleep Party became the anthem of my summer, but I always knew that come autumn, I would have to start being an adult. I searched for an internship, obtained a real schedule at my job and even got a gym membership. I was so afraid that becoming an adult meant that I had to stop being a kid. Doreen's birthday changed that. Now I am a kid that isn't afraid of growing up. Fuck that Peter Pan syndrome. I can still wear my tights with a business suit.