After spending far too long throwing myself a pity party (let’s be honest- any time mourning over someone who’s basically a stranger, is too much time), I decided sitting in my apartment wasn’t the best plan for the evening.  My fashion-world-immensed favorite couple invited me to a party for one of their company’s (Jamie’s).  Nick, his bf and one of my bff’s, came over to dress me up and pre-drink for the soiree.  Him and I headed down to the Lower East Side fairly early, and met Jamie at the venue.  It was pretty swanky, and definitely the first party of its’ kind that I’d been to in the city.  Pretty, fashionable people everywhere, dim lighting, lounging areas, and sporadically placed bottles of grey goose next to buckets of ice… I felt like I was on the set of Sex and The City or The Hills.  Jamie seized the benefit of the open bar and I started off with a rather stout vodka and diet coke.  Liquor consumption is a rarity for me these days, so it does not take long to take me from zero to plastered, a very dangerous thing.  I slowly sipped on the first drink, eyeing the crowd, taking in the cute men and contemplating who was and wasn’t straight.  My gaydar is typically spot on, but I must confess, I very drunkenly hit on a gay boy right in front of Jamie once, while Jamie just laughed at me, and to this day, still won’t let me live it down.  When we were almost done with round one, we claimed a corner table and I poured the first drink with the grey goose that had just been waiting for us… My drink was about 9 parts vodka and 1 part cranberry.  Did I also mention that I’m shit at pouring mixed drinks when I’m already drunk?  After one sip, I felt done, so naturally, when Jamie asked me if I wanted to step outside for a cig with him, I said yes.  Although it was still somewhat early at this point, once we headed back inside, I knew I would only last for about 30 minutes- which I did, and luckily one of my favorite MGMT songs came on.  After that, I felt that my night was complete and headed to the train to catch it back to my ‘hood.

Although my evening was far off from what it was originally supposed to be, and the fact that I didn’t chat up any random boys, it was even more fucking fantastic.  Can you really beat the company of best friends, free grey goose, and good conversation?  Of course not.

After my final text to Craigslist guy, I took his number out of my phone, only jotting down the first several digits in case he ever contacts me again, and his email off my account… just like he never existed.  Thank goodness for that too, because I have a feeling a text or two might have been shot his way, post-vodka, last night.  I feel like putting up a post on Missed Connections several days down that road that’s titled “Cupcakes and Cocktails”, then have the body read “Go fuck yourself, J****”.  Hmm… immature?  Fitting?  Thoughts in general?