Yet another reason to wash your hands
Friday night I attended the going away party for my friend Sturgis. He was one of the first familiar faces I discovered when I moved to the city. He and his girlfriend, well now his fiancée, are 
moving the Oregon because she has the sweetest job with Nike. He met Morgan (future wife) at the gym because she was wearing a KU shirt. Small world. Anyway, he proposed the previous week in central park. Basically it was pouring outside but the sky cleared up for 15 minutes. This was enough time for him to take her to one of the magnificently stunning bridges (yeah I’m an engineer dork) and pop the question. He even had a friend hiding in the bushes to take pictures of the whole thing. Awwww. Sure enough, after they had enough pictures and kisses, the rain came back down with a vengeance. Talk about it being written in the stars….or sky, or forecast, whatever, I’m happy for them.
The party was at East Midtown pub called “Galloway Hooker”. Ah ha ha ha. Too bad it means something else in European or something. The bathrooms did not have floor-to-ceiling walls, so basically anything you did in the stalls could be broadcasted to the entire bar.
Of course being a girl, I do not have to worry about things like farts or number twos…because girls don’t do that. The one point of amusement was the super high powered hand air dryer. Seriously, it was like jet engine was taking off in you hands. Bree and I discussed catching people not washing their hands if you see them leave without hearing the earth shaking dryer.
Ali was in the mood to party hard (ie with Fidel), so he left around 11. Bree and I were in a torturous conversation with some guy who also went to KSU. He and I had a mutual friend (Ted) and he evidently recognized me from Ted’s cruise pictures. Yap yap yap, tried the whole move to another part of the bar trick but did not work. I thought about making faces (jem of a story involving Chicago Emily and I at bungalow a few years back) but decided not to be an obvious evil bitch. Therefore, at 11:30, Bree and I headed out.
We hopped in a cab and would rendezvous with Ali and Fidel at Libation down in the lower east side. Well on our way down, Bree called Ali. Turns out he took the subway down and was lost in the village. We made a detour and picked him up. Turns out Fidel (aka our “in”) would not be arriving until midnight, so we had about 15 minutes of fame to kill. Taking a cue from the previous weekend, we headed a block down to Spitzer’s Corner. I was looking forward to a delicious delirium beer (seriously, it must be laced with nicotine or crack to cause instant addiction). I ordered three at the bar and the bartender got all anal on me. He asked to see my id, and then the id’s of whomever I would be giving the extra beers to. I had to fight the crowd and gather Bree and Ali’s ids. Yeah, he was such a douche that he asked me to point them out in the crowd to really check the faces. Okay buddy, we are not 21, we are 27-28! If you are going to be such a hard ass serving me, then we can take our totally legal selves to some other overpriced bar. I was half tempted to distribute flyers to the minors at NYU telling them to screw with this guy.
After our one beer, we met up with Fidel. Okay one of the many advantages of rolling with Fidel is the “special entrance”. Yeah we get the VIP door and everything. Okay, I can pretend to be all that every once in a while. As soon as we hit the VIP lounge, Fidel cracked open the first bottle service of the night. In attendance were a bunch of people I do not know and Ali’s roommate Max. Max is an actor and just finished shooting a movie, documentary, short, whatever where he had to portray a skin head. Yep off came the hair. He brought along his actor friends and they too were in the early stages of Chia head. Now given the wide demographic of the club, I was tentative to acknowledge I was with the “skin heads”. Ahh, PC world.
I was sitting on a bench playing with the curtains (yeah combination of alcohol and shiny things). One of the skin head guys was getting frisky and kept resting his hand on my knee. I would give him a confused look because I was drunk not stupid. He took it as an invitation to slide his hand up my dress. Oh no he didn’t! I deflected the blow faster than Heather Graham. Okay I did not want to leave my prime spot of people watching next to the liquor, but I could not shoo this punk away. He kept trying to do it until I finally gave him another glass to hold so his hands were occupied.
Well it was someone’s birthday. Whose I do not know (Fidel knows seriously everyone). Anyway, they brought out cupcakes. I am not one to turn down a sweet confection, so I grabbed an extra chocolate one.
Call me strange, but I eat the frosting separate from the cupcake. You know, like eating the filling of an Oreo before the black cookie (I have a theory that the dental association teamed up with Oreo because you always end up with a black cookie bit explosion stuck in your teeth and must therefore brush afterwards). As I was enjoying my cupcake, thick skull skin head guy asked to taste it. I pointed to the tray of cupcakes and told him to enjoy. He then said “no I want to taste yours”. Ummm, okay, so I broke him off a cake chunk and handed it to him. He then said “no I want some frosting”. Since I had tackled that part first, there was not much left. I scooped up the remnants on my finger and thought “oh shit, how am I supposed to get it off my finger”. Well he quickly answered my question by sticking my finger in his mouth….and then 
sucked it with this look in his eyes. Yeah I don’t know if he was trying to look sexy or imitate how well he sucks dick, but it did not fly with me. I pulled out my finger and wiped it tactlessly on the bench.
Several drinks later, I had enough. I pulled a Rick Houdini and slipped out of the club discreetly. On my adventure of fighting the drunk masses for an open cab, I found myself on Rivington St. Hmmm, why not stop into Hotel Rivington to seduce the potential hook up bartender. Okay, my friend Rob wants to set me up with his friend Billy the Bartender and I am stoked about it. Good thing he was not working that night, because some of you know how my “sexy look” really comes across when I am trashed (something like I have an eyelash stuck in one eye and a half smirk half grimace smile).
moving the Oregon because she has the sweetest job with Nike. He met Morgan (future wife) at the gym because she was wearing a KU shirt. Small world. Anyway, he proposed the previous week in central park. Basically it was pouring outside but the sky cleared up for 15 minutes. This was enough time for him to take her to one of the magnificently stunning bridges (yeah I’m an engineer dork) and pop the question. He even had a friend hiding in the bushes to take pictures of the whole thing. Awwww. Sure enough, after they had enough pictures and kisses, the rain came back down with a vengeance. Talk about it being written in the stars….or sky, or forecast, whatever, I’m happy for them.The party was at East Midtown pub called “Galloway Hooker”. Ah ha ha ha. Too bad it means something else in European or something. The bathrooms did not have floor-to-ceiling walls, so basically anything you did in the stalls could be broadcasted to the entire bar.
Of course being a girl, I do not have to worry about things like farts or number twos…because girls don’t do that. The one point of amusement was the super high powered hand air dryer. Seriously, it was like jet engine was taking off in you hands. Bree and I discussed catching people not washing their hands if you see them leave without hearing the earth shaking dryer.Ali was in the mood to party hard (ie with Fidel), so he left around 11. Bree and I were in a torturous conversation with some guy who also went to KSU. He and I had a mutual friend (Ted) and he evidently recognized me from Ted’s cruise pictures. Yap yap yap, tried the whole move to another part of the bar trick but did not work. I thought about making faces (jem of a story involving Chicago Emily and I at bungalow a few years back) but decided not to be an obvious evil bitch. Therefore, at 11:30, Bree and I headed out.
We hopped in a cab and would rendezvous with Ali and Fidel at Libation down in the lower east side. Well on our way down, Bree called Ali. Turns out he took the subway down and was lost in the village. We made a detour and picked him up. Turns out Fidel (aka our “in”) would not be arriving until midnight, so we had about 15 minutes of fame to kill. Taking a cue from the previous weekend, we headed a block down to Spitzer’s Corner. I was looking forward to a delicious delirium beer (seriously, it must be laced with nicotine or crack to cause instant addiction). I ordered three at the bar and the bartender got all anal on me. He asked to see my id, and then the id’s of whomever I would be giving the extra beers to. I had to fight the crowd and gather Bree and Ali’s ids. Yeah, he was such a douche that he asked me to point them out in the crowd to really check the faces. Okay buddy, we are not 21, we are 27-28! If you are going to be such a hard ass serving me, then we can take our totally legal selves to some other overpriced bar. I was half tempted to distribute flyers to the minors at NYU telling them to screw with this guy.
After our one beer, we met up with Fidel. Okay one of the many advantages of rolling with Fidel is the “special entrance”. Yeah we get the VIP door and everything. Okay, I can pretend to be all that every once in a while. As soon as we hit the VIP lounge, Fidel cracked open the first bottle service of the night. In attendance were a bunch of people I do not know and Ali’s roommate Max. Max is an actor and just finished shooting a movie, documentary, short, whatever where he had to portray a skin head. Yep off came the hair. He brought along his actor friends and they too were in the early stages of Chia head. Now given the wide demographic of the club, I was tentative to acknowledge I was with the “skin heads”. Ahh, PC world.
I was sitting on a bench playing with the curtains (yeah combination of alcohol and shiny things). One of the skin head guys was getting frisky and kept resting his hand on my knee. I would give him a confused look because I was drunk not stupid. He took it as an invitation to slide his hand up my dress. Oh no he didn’t! I deflected the blow faster than Heather Graham. Okay I did not want to leave my prime spot of people watching next to the liquor, but I could not shoo this punk away. He kept trying to do it until I finally gave him another glass to hold so his hands were occupied.Well it was someone’s birthday. Whose I do not know (Fidel knows seriously everyone). Anyway, they brought out cupcakes. I am not one to turn down a sweet confection, so I grabbed an extra chocolate one.
Call me strange, but I eat the frosting separate from the cupcake. You know, like eating the filling of an Oreo before the black cookie (I have a theory that the dental association teamed up with Oreo because you always end up with a black cookie bit explosion stuck in your teeth and must therefore brush afterwards). As I was enjoying my cupcake, thick skull skin head guy asked to taste it. I pointed to the tray of cupcakes and told him to enjoy. He then said “no I want to taste yours”. Ummm, okay, so I broke him off a cake chunk and handed it to him. He then said “no I want some frosting”. Since I had tackled that part first, there was not much left. I scooped up the remnants on my finger and thought “oh shit, how am I supposed to get it off my finger”. Well he quickly answered my question by sticking my finger in his mouth….and then 
sucked it with this look in his eyes. Yeah I don’t know if he was trying to look sexy or imitate how well he sucks dick, but it did not fly with me. I pulled out my finger and wiped it tactlessly on the bench.Several drinks later, I had enough. I pulled a Rick Houdini and slipped out of the club discreetly. On my adventure of fighting the drunk masses for an open cab, I found myself on Rivington St. Hmmm, why not stop into Hotel Rivington to seduce the potential hook up bartender. Okay, my friend Rob wants to set me up with his friend Billy the Bartender and I am stoked about it. Good thing he was not working that night, because some of you know how my “sexy look” really comes across when I am trashed (something like I have an eyelash stuck in one eye and a half smirk half grimace smile).
posted by Lindsay @ 9:35 AM
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