Thanks to my LJ reminiscing and the Sick Fantasy threads I've been feeling like my life has been a series of vague intangible humiliations and failures. And frankly I'm worried I'm on the verge of sounding like some of my greatest enemies, NPR essayists so let's focus on something other than complaining or attempting to make witty observations on pop culture.
In other words, BRING ON THE GOOD TIMES!!!
Lex had a BBQ and Hensley befriended a fish head. He tried to smoke through it's mouth. I don't think it worked but about four people crowded around him taking pictures joking (or not joking) I am so blogging this.
Alexandra Cassaniti sent me another pair of the beautiful hypercolor pyramid sunglasses I lost while doing that non-alcoholic beer bong a few BBQs back. Jordan tried to swipe them, but I gave him a pair of Plastic Peopleshades Chuck gave me. (Dude, I am getting so good at product placement...I mean linkage...!)
The fish head made it to the grill (sorry Lex, this is a uncharacteristically weird looking picture of you.) Eventually it made it into a few dude's mouths. I encouraged them, I mean people pay a lot of money for "salmon collar" at sushi restaurants, that meat's good eatin'.
Look, that chick is totally blogging Hensley's foray into prop comedy, what a dork! Oh wait...
Amanda and Lex's neighbor came up to the roof and freaked out and threatened to call the landlord/cops unless we got off the roof. Bummer! So the party moved into their apartment where these two thought it would be a good idea to cool off in the shower. This girl was really excited that she got her hair wet in the shower, so excited that she kept mentioning it to everyone and had me take a picture of her. I was starting to get annoyed when Amanda told her she should prank call her broker who had gotten them the apartment. I offered my phone and the shower girl fake broke up with the broker's voicemail and insulted her labia in the process. It was pretty awesome.
Rich was there taking all sorts of unflattering pictures of me with his camera and this one flatter photo of us with mine. I got super sunburned last weekend in all the spots that I sweat while at the beach in 95 degree heat -- my armpits, my sternum, my face, and my belly button. Also my left ear got so burnt it swelled up and throbbed because I am apparently an idiot and forgot that when one has long hair and they pull it back at the beach they should put sunscreen on their ears. Anyway, the burn on my sternum turned into a weird patch of super tan and now looks like a weird birthmark. Gross.
See I wasn't lying when I said Rich takes unflattering pictures of me.
Things got creepy early on.
Then we went to a refrigerator factory to see The Golden Error be generally awesome! It was surprisingly hot for a refrigerator factory, but an awesome venue until the cops showed up. Check out the show! Doesn't it look fun! Don't you wish you were there?
The show was fun, The Golden Error ruled, and strangely enough a few members of Team Beastman were there as well as the majority of Team Fun. Ahh, when blogs become relevant...it's satisfying but also unmentionable. You can't really say, "Oh that's so weird you guys are here because I was just blogging about our team rivalry the other day..." Yeah...not so much.
The cops broke up the refrigerator warehouse party and we got word of another get-together down the block on S 4th in the grossest building ever. That huge monstrosity of a dorm-like structure right off Bedford. You know the one. The last party I went to there involved everyone I was with getting busted for open container WHILE WE WERE STILL IN THE BUILDING! Yeah, figure that one out NYPD. We were leaving the party because we'd stolen all the alcohol we could manage from the shitty hosts (hey, they had a wine sponsor, it's not like they paid for it!) and were finishing up our beers in the elevator. I downed the last of my wine and set down my empty cup right before we hit the ground floor. Good thing because the doors opened up leaving us face-to-face with several of those lovable boys in blue.
They corralled everyone who had an open container leaving myself and I believe Gabe (?) as the only two not busted. Thankfully no one's bench warrants were discovered and no one had to spend the night in lock-up.
At the time of the bust these were the contents of my purse. One bottle of wine, one bottle of Bacardi, one 20 oz soda bottle filled with wine, a pack of Newports, and a hairbrush. Classy dame! And that's not counting the half-melted tubes of red and coral lipstick and the stash of condoms that were probably crushed underneath all the smuggled booze.
Regardless, we went to a party on the said offending roof, the first time I'd been there since April 2006 (thanks MySpace for marking my life's trajectory via comments) and hopefully it will be the last. We asked everyone if the party was fun and everyone just kept saying, "Sure...you know, if you like DJs."
This is the scene we went up to:
That picture isn't terribly interesting unless you note the lone glowstick. It pretty much sums up the scene. Poor little glowstick, all alone, no glowstick bretheren to share in it's glorious light-making. The music was painfully NuRave as were the dance moves but we showed up, didn't mock anyone outright, instead opted to make asses of ourselves and had a fucking blast. My camera died at this point which is a shame because there was some intense chair dancing that started involving four of my dude friends practically gang-banging a yellow plastic chair. We were foiled once again as the cops showed to this party. What the fuck? Three parties busted in one day, two by the cops and the third by threat of them. What? A bunch of people can't rage on Sunday night? What is this? Communist Russia?
I kid, but it was pretty funny as we left the party a cop eyeballed me super hard. I held up the green glass bottle I was carrying and gestured it towards him shouting, "It's San Pelligrino dude!"
It was a good fucking night. The only downside? I got three angry phonecalls from a pranked realtor the next day threatening to call the cops if she ever got a phone call from my number again. C'est la vie.