christmas party
Can you have an emotional hangover from a party?
Aren't parties supposed to be...I don't know...fun? Sometimes they're fun. Sometimes they're just not. I keep counting my uh, chickens, or something, on last night, and something ain't adding up. Which could have something to do with why I've been randomly sobbing today, in between Christmas shopping, calling everyone I know, and taking a shower at Sessoms house. Because when I awoke this morning, the situation was:
Item - One (1) Kiwi, in his chic black boxers, asleep on my living room futon.
Item - Two (2) useless showers, because of complete lack of hot water in the building.
Item - Two (2) cupcakes, baked and iced last night, that I proceeded to consume as I surveyed the scene.
Item - One (1) Boss asleep with
Item - One (1) Metro in her room.
Item - Twelve (12) items of clothing, discarded in angry, exhausted huff.
What the hell, dude? I keep coming home from these functions in angry exhausted huffs. Or I come home face-meltingly drunk, and make with the drunk dials.
Okay, so it wasn't all a waste. In fact, there were some fine moments. Swank & Sweetheart's Queens apartment was the locale for this fundraiser, and it was decorated excellently. Daisy D. and I showed up with mass amounts of baked goods I had spent the day creating. By the end of the night, Daisy D. and Hugh were going at it like there was no tomorrow in every darkened corner - I had more than one "EEK!" moment, where I opened the wrong door and discovered Hugh atop my friend. We applaud this union, be it a one time or no, because it is a nice finger in the face of Vegas, who treated our dear Daisy like shite.
Sessoms and the Professor had their usual brush with the dramatic before she somehow, three drinks in, stumbled into sickness, and spent the rest of the soiree yakking on the roof. Oof. The Professor, on his way down the stairs with Girlfriend, grabbed my arm and said to me, most seriously:
"She's really sick. Please go up there."
Ay-ay Captain. Jon & I are due for a cigarette and a chat at this point (I've already had angry, dramatic run-in with Swank, who is being a dickface to me for reasons I can't even begin to understand, other than occasionally, the man seems to have a period), and we find Sessoms on her rooftop corner, covered in Nelly's jacket.
Nelly is actually the adorable first-year boy who hooks up with Jeff, one of our two uncloseted Second Years, both of whom I adore.
The cast of characters gets crazy at these functions. It's like fucking War and Peace.
Why would that jacket matter? Why at all?
Because at 4 in the morning, I am standing there with a mop in hand, a smattering of the strong around me, cleaning the party off the floor. I've spent ten minutes helping locate Nelly's jacket, then sent he and Jeff off to Brooklyn to get down. Swank has vanished into the Astoria night with a small man who would give Nelly a run for his money in a Fae contest, and Sweetheart turns to me.
"Okay, be honest with me, Maggie, because I'm so confused. Have you ever hooked up with Swank?"
I proceed to burst into tears.
I wish Beaux had been with me the whole night, like was once maybe, kinda sorta, vaguely planned. Hell, I might not have gotten to have my fun "Let's Get It On" dance moment with Numbers, but I definitely would have avoided the Foyer of Ultimate Doom conversation with Kiwi, and I definitely, DEFINITELY would not have been there, crying, with a mop, at 4 in the morning. No. I would've been the one getting some in closets. I would've awoken the next morning perhaps still with cold water, but one of those cupcakes would've been for Beaux, and my Christmas tights, tube dress, and pretty underwear wouldn't have been such a complete waste of time.
Aren't parties supposed to be...I don't know...fun? Sometimes they're fun. Sometimes they're just not. I keep counting my uh, chickens, or something, on last night, and something ain't adding up. Which could have something to do with why I've been randomly sobbing today, in between Christmas shopping, calling everyone I know, and taking a shower at Sessoms house. Because when I awoke this morning, the situation was:
Item - One (1) Kiwi, in his chic black boxers, asleep on my living room futon.
Item - Two (2) useless showers, because of complete lack of hot water in the building.
Item - Two (2) cupcakes, baked and iced last night, that I proceeded to consume as I surveyed the scene.
Item - One (1) Boss asleep with
Item - One (1) Metro in her room.
Item - Twelve (12) items of clothing, discarded in angry, exhausted huff.
What the hell, dude? I keep coming home from these functions in angry exhausted huffs. Or I come home face-meltingly drunk, and make with the drunk dials.
Okay, so it wasn't all a waste. In fact, there were some fine moments. Swank & Sweetheart's Queens apartment was the locale for this fundraiser, and it was decorated excellently. Daisy D. and I showed up with mass amounts of baked goods I had spent the day creating. By the end of the night, Daisy D. and Hugh were going at it like there was no tomorrow in every darkened corner - I had more than one "EEK!" moment, where I opened the wrong door and discovered Hugh atop my friend. We applaud this union, be it a one time or no, because it is a nice finger in the face of Vegas, who treated our dear Daisy like shite.
Sessoms and the Professor had their usual brush with the dramatic before she somehow, three drinks in, stumbled into sickness, and spent the rest of the soiree yakking on the roof. Oof. The Professor, on his way down the stairs with Girlfriend, grabbed my arm and said to me, most seriously:
"She's really sick. Please go up there."
Ay-ay Captain. Jon & I are due for a cigarette and a chat at this point (I've already had angry, dramatic run-in with Swank, who is being a dickface to me for reasons I can't even begin to understand, other than occasionally, the man seems to have a period), and we find Sessoms on her rooftop corner, covered in Nelly's jacket.
Nelly is actually the adorable first-year boy who hooks up with Jeff, one of our two uncloseted Second Years, both of whom I adore.
The cast of characters gets crazy at these functions. It's like fucking War and Peace.
Why would that jacket matter? Why at all?
Because at 4 in the morning, I am standing there with a mop in hand, a smattering of the strong around me, cleaning the party off the floor. I've spent ten minutes helping locate Nelly's jacket, then sent he and Jeff off to Brooklyn to get down. Swank has vanished into the Astoria night with a small man who would give Nelly a run for his money in a Fae contest, and Sweetheart turns to me.
"Okay, be honest with me, Maggie, because I'm so confused. Have you ever hooked up with Swank?"
I proceed to burst into tears.
I wish Beaux had been with me the whole night, like was once maybe, kinda sorta, vaguely planned. Hell, I might not have gotten to have my fun "Let's Get It On" dance moment with Numbers, but I definitely would have avoided the Foyer of Ultimate Doom conversation with Kiwi, and I definitely, DEFINITELY would not have been there, crying, with a mop, at 4 in the morning. No. I would've been the one getting some in closets. I would've awoken the next morning perhaps still with cold water, but one of those cupcakes would've been for Beaux, and my Christmas tights, tube dress, and pretty underwear wouldn't have been such a complete waste of time.
Labels: Beaux, Boss, Jon, Kiwi, Metro, nightlife, Numbers, Sessoms, Swank, The Professor, Vegas
posted by Maggie Moon at
5:34 PM
1 Comments:
how do i love thee, let me count the ways....
maybe the label of "girlfriend" should be stricken from the record. aw, snap.
i refer to this sort of feeling as a "shameover", as you will see in my next blog entry.
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