This weekend we went to Washington, DC for work. While there, we ran into some of the District’s best and whitest, including Kevin D, Matt Z, Alex S, Cub B, Thomas B, and Bill H. We were sad to miss FHC, but he was racing around town in a Zipcar, we heard, practicing driving. Is it possible that he TRIES to make his life into a cartoon?
On Saturday night, after finishing work, we attended a birthday celebration at someone's apartment.
It was the kind of party where they pull up all the rugs on the tile floor because they know anything near the ground will be destroyed. The kind of party where they blast music, spill out onto the street, and everybody gets really hammered. By the end of the night, people were eating cookies and nachos (think of the CARBS!) and washing them down with disgusting combinations of whatever liquor was left in the kitchen (think Stoli O with Vanilla Coke). There was even, wait for it… a KEG.
You know this type of shindig – the sort where everyone in attendance was so drunk that, if required, they could eat an entire houseplant. We can only assume that later on, the evening included facial decoration with Sharpies, and more than one messy blowjob-turned-blowchunks incident (don’t pretend it’s never happened to you).
It made us realize: People never have parties like that in New York. Gay people, at least. These people were eating Wheatables, for Christ’s sake, and not the low-fat kind. Is it because our neighbors would complain? Is it because in New York, you have to remain sober enough to get home safely? Is it because we’re too buttoned up? Is it because we have places like The Cock In The Hole, The Slide, Urge, etc, where people invariably migrate when they get that drunk, so we don’t need frat-tastic house parties?
It really reminded us of college, which made us nostalgic. It’s sort of fun to go crazy like that, we thought. Until we remembered that if we were back in college, we would have probably ended up ditching our friends, inappropriately grabbing an assortment of random male asses, waking up in some random upperclassman’s bedroom with no memory of the night before, stumbling home before Intro Psych at 9:15, and then telling everybody we didn’t come home because we “just passed out under the Christmas tree at the Lightweight house.”
After briefly pondering this, we filled our red Solo cup with water, grabbed our friends, and caught a cab home. Maybe being 25 isn’t so bad after all.