Tuesday, June 3, 2008
In Keeping with the Recent themes
Seriously, my entire life doesn't revolve around bongs and partying. It just looks that way.
There is something so serene about the image of a lady bonging with one hand while holding a bottle of Diet Coke in the other. Something so undeniably New York. A lot of the women I've taken pictures of hitting the beer bong look comically serene. It's not a sorority girls gone wild scenario but more of a "what the hell, I'll do this" sort of attitude. Girl looks like a serious pro.
For all who did not attend, Saturday was bonkers...bangin...bananas...it had everything a house party could ask for except very little dancing. And unfortunately a lot of piss...on the roof...all over...and a lot of people making out in corners on the roof...where a lot of people had pissed...all over. There were gays and gals and bros and babes and dudes and plaids and vests and haircuts. There was a bong and a keg and hundreds of cups and empties and bottles and cans. And these guys aka the Party Doctors:
Most importantly there was a lot of fun.
But what is a party without a fight? And what is a party without enemies? My neighbors in the basement had a show the same night. A competing party which confused a lot of early arrivers at my building. No...I would never throw a party in which "Faux Punk" a Daft Punk cover band performed. Never in a million years. Nor was I particularly amped on the fans of a Daft Punk cover band drinking from the keg we'd purchases to make Lauren's birthday party all the more fun (although I think the beer bongs distracted people from keg stands.) So when one man came across douche fans smoking weed in the hallway after eight too many beer bongs...let's just say it was gnarly.
I have a weird track record with fights at parties I throw, at least in the city. The first one, at 55 Delancey, broke out on the rooftop. It was between some SVA kids and some Parsons dudes...so college, so good. The SVA kids were tagging the halls and the roof and the Parsons dudes stood up for our household's honor and someone got knocked out cold in the process. Girls were screaming everywhere on the roof and suddenly a fellow Eugene Lang student yelled, "FUCK THIS PATRIARCHAL BULLSHIT!" and then did what anyone who wants to smash patriarchy would do...called the cops.
The second fight occurred in the apartment I still live in. It was our first party which I think my apartment's reputation in the building (specifically with our landlord) never fully recovered. My roommates built a teepee on the roof and were given liquid acid by this dude:
Seriously, it was really that dude. I recognized him immediately because I always thought this was one of the funniest Don'ts. My roommate recognized him too and told him so and he kept saying, "I'm not a Don't, I'm a model." Yeah dude, you may be a model but we'll always know you as the ultimate Don't. Also, while on acid my roommate took video footage of Neon voguing on the roof as he asked her if her glasses were "Cour-raj-aye" aka Courreges. After she filmed him she took a boy she met at the party to Sunday services with a Spanish-speaking Jehovah's Witness concregation. That boy ended up becoming her (now ex) boyfriend. Whoa.
Anyway, at that party there was a fight in the kitchen. Two blondes fighting about a mutual ex and expressing their general mutual hatred. The escalation was amazing. One accusing the other of having the world's most common STD (really is HPV even an insult when like half of the fucking population has it?) and the other shouting, "Whatever, at least I didn't play NOFX at my last DJ night, go ride your BMX bike you fucking poser." And those, funnily enough, were the words that brought it to blows.
This most recent fight ended with my buddy trying to throw a full paintcan down several flights of stairs after being temporarily laid out in the hallway. His girlfriend got punched and flipped on her back and it was at that point in which I intervened, hitting the dude in the back with a plastic bag full of empty beer bottles I'd gathered while cleaning up the stairwell. I felt like the crotchety old lady shooing pesky children away with her broom...aka not that scary or effective.
I'm not a fighter. I've only been in one fist fight. It was with a dude. I was borderline blacked out. It was about how I thought Mastadon was "fucking boring." I started it. And it ended with a concussion. It's a long story. A scary dirty crazy story. And I got pretty fucked up but so did the dude. At least from what I can remember and truthfully it's not much. Lesson learned, just because someone is wearing a Mastadon shirt doesn't mean you should fight them. Or maybe it does...because fuck...I still think that band is fucking boring.