Circa 10:00 p.m last night, I was pre-planning a blog post of 100% Shame, in which I would admit that I spent Halloween all dressed up with no place to go (with the photos to prove it, taken with MM's Photo-Booth). I planned to title it "I Am A Loser." No self-deprecation about it, just fully admitting the depths of my loser-dom, like telling you that I have been a DungeonMaster and once attended a Star Trek Convention. (that's not hypothetical.)
Oh, first off, I was Robin Hood. I figured since everyone can't stop fucking talking about how girls dress as sluts on Halloween (really? they do? Hey, have you noticed all those hipsters in Williamsburg? Probably not, because have you noticed that the L train is really awful and never runs on weekends? Stephen Colbert is FUN-nay!! I hate tourists. Ew, times square. ETC., and oh p.s. they said it in Mean Girls and so it's Already Over, because that movie came out a long time ago.), I would dress as the patron saint of New York City Whores and Sluts, Robin Hood. But you know--sexy. I made my costume out of an American Apparel dress, green and white striped tights, my Daria Doc Martens, Lo's Classic Legwarmers and a feather I snagged from an "Indian Headdress" I got at the same store that sold me a 10.00 quasimodo costume that I thought I could "work with." ha.
So the plan was: because we are sex-positive ladies who like well coreographed go-go-strip-dancer shows instead of random trashy strip dancer shows, we planned on attending the latest
""The Devil is a WOMAN!" And she is fierce. This Halloween don't miss the best bash of the year - the CAKE annual masquerade and costume ball at Room Service, one of the city's newest venues with nine curtained-off cabana style rooms outfitted with flatscreens and minibars, and Ten's, our own non-traditional strip club - all on Halloween night."
Yeah, bla bla.
Steph started getting ill a few days ago, and she still is. Tara's friend overindulged before the parade and ended up ill circa 9pm, which is about when I was ready to get the party started.
I was being a staunch character and refusing to travel uptown, for fear of the classic no-go-out trap (when you go to someone's place to pre-game and that ends up being the entire game). This is when I was pondering the possibility that,
This was complicated by the fact that I don't like going out. So that side of my personality was fighting the side that was wearing a costume. Like, Mandy Moore vs. Paris Hilton.
But Lainy surprised me by bucking expectation, getting in a cab, coming to my place, picking me up, and going to the goddamn party. We made it there with about ten minutes left of open bar. In order to reach maximum intoxication (OK, I was drunk before I left, but whatevs), we drank three drinks apiece within the aforementioned 10 minutes of remaining open bar. Possibly un-wise, but as Brian Kinney always says, no regrets, no apologies.
Lainy was a cheerleader, as you can see in this photo. I assume she is cheering for "Team Hot Topic." But I can't say for certain.
So, re: why going out is usually dumb...
In college, going out seemed like an overpriced and over-glittered game of Hide and Go Seek. I often suggested that we fast forward past the part where we "go out" to the part where we go to Panchero's. Of course--this theory went to shit if you actually went home with someone, but that wasn't really my goal and besides, in general (and because many of us had boyfriends, myself included, and mine was underage and couldn't go out with us anyhow) it was something like this:
As we cabbed downtown, I said: "Lainy, it's all downhill from here." Getting ready is generally the best part of going out in Manhattan. HOWEVER, there can be multiple climaxes if you experience: 1. the sensation that you have finally achieved an ideal level of fuck-up-ed-ness or 2. you meet another human who you enjoy talking to/making out with. It's not nearly as exciting as the first climax, but it's still a nice jolt.
But what did we learn? Getting drunk in ten minutes and then just dancing your ass off is one of the funnest things ever. And so, we were maniacs, and we had a fucking blast. Happy Halloween!
You know what's funny? How badly men want to get in to Cake parties. Some guys offered to pay our charge if we took them in as our guests. They were like "Is it cool in there? Is it?" As if everyone inside was an actual slut waiting for these 5'8 douchebags dressed as men with sheets over their bodies to come in and ride their hobby horse. Honestly my hair kept getting in my face so I wasn't paying attention to the other people, I was just dancing and watching the dancers on the stage. Dance Dance Dance!
I told the douchebags that everyone was naked and the girls were wrestling in Jell-o, and they believed me?
And also: I've only been to one other Cake party, and when they wouldn't let Tara's friend Tom in without a girl (he came late, after us), I had to seduce the doorman into letting him in, and that doorman was Matty, who then took me home and thus entered my life, where he stayed for, well, a long time. As I told my friends in the classic story of how Matty and I met, "He had me at: you. there. stand in the corner. I'm letting your friend in. don't go anywhere. stay. in the corner."
1 When I say "our" or "we" that usually means "Haviland and I."