January 6th, 2004


New Years Eve Weekend, Pt. 1

While I recognize that while none of these days fell on a Friday, Saturday, or SUnday, for the purpose of storytelling with respect to New Years Eve, the day prior and the day following, and all events that took place therein, will be hereinafter referred to as the NEW YEARS EVE WEEKEND, or simply WEEKEND. maeincarnate (I), coldblackncold (MICKEY), pantload (GAMER), and his wife JENNIFER will be hereinafter referred to as WE during the term of the post.

WE left for NEW YEARS EVE WEEKEND on the morning of New Years Eve, and after a few foulups in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot and with the tire air pressure gauge, we were happily on our way. Thanks to one of GAMER's co-workers, we discovered a new super-secret back way through Maryland that is a million times better than any ride up 95, no matter the time of day and will from now on be used for any travel north of Baltimore. A traffic-free and stress-free 4 hours later, we were pulling up to our hotel.

WE were at the Holiday Inn Downtown, which according to the site was in SoHo. Both were slight exaggerations, as it was on the corner of Lexington and Canal, in the dead center of Chinatown. WE rested up and watched TV for a bit, cracked open a delightfully sugary bottle of White Zinfandel, and GAMER and I laughed at those commercials from our childhoods that they are still playing on New York channels. MICKEY, the champ that he is, went out and picked up hot dogs for us, and returned with one more than we asked for due to a language snafu at the stand. "One plain, one with ketchup, one with kraut, and that'll be everything" resulted in one plain, one with ketchup, one with kraut, and one with everything. I had never been bold enough to eat a dog with everything before, and I have to confess, I'll be doing it again.

A stroll around the neighborhood and a $15 watch later, it was time for us to get ready for the evening. We had initially planned to go to our friend's uncle's loft in SoHo, where every few years the uncle goes out of town for NYE and allows our friend to throw a party in his cavernous loft that he's had rent-controlled since like 1972. This year, the uncle's decided to sell the loft and the party got cancelled. Why anyone would sell that place is beyond me, but I guess a cool mil in the hand is worth $600 a month.

Our friend, DR. COCK, saved the day when he let us know about some bar that was doing an all-you-can-drink for $100 thing and he got us tickets for it. WE all met up at his place for a cocktail party and a putting tournament before going to the bar. I found out that this wasn't just some bar, but a private party that the financial planning place COCK's girlfriend, MEL works for was throwing; invite only, with dj's and sponsored by Red Bull. My fears of an overcrowded eurotrash meat market dump were assuaged.
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New Years Eve Weekend, Pt. 2

There was a catch, of course. MEL had somehow miscounted or lost or never got or whatever three of the tickets for the party. There was some concern that WE would be up shit creek for the night, but luckily there were plenty of tickets being scalped at the front door.

What does a $5 per person mandatory coat check charge mean? Well, for one, it means somebody isn't getting a tip. It also means that if MICKEY wants to check both his suit jacket and his coat, that nice "per person" line on the sign makes for an easy "fuck you" to the girl who wanted him to pay $5 for each item. Oh, and to not give you a tip.

Lucky breaks were all around: the room was crowded, but not insane, the tickets that were scalped off the street turned out to be VIP tickets, and MICKEY and I were lucky enough to get them and the perks that came with our little orange wristbands (free crackers!). Since the party was in a warehouse/loft thing and not a bar or a restaurant, we were allowed to smoke indoors (a nasty tease to the New Yorkers in attendance of what life was like when they lived in a free country), and the Red Bull sponsorship and open bar allowed for nearly immediate returns on investments.

Everything was going great. The music was awesome, the crowd was lively yet well-behaved. The line for the bathroom, however, was a different story. On a whim I decided to go check it out, and 40 minutes later, I emerged refreshed from one of the three ladies stalls. The scene in the mens room didn't look much better, and reports were that there was one urinal and two stalls. When I walked by, three guys were peeing in the sink. Hey, at least it's got a drain.

The drinks were stiff, the room got more and more crowded, and things got a little stranger. I chatted for a while with a visiting Japanese girl who threw out my "counting-stack" cups, one of the girls WE came with began making a show of herself on the dance floor, DR. COCK got emotional, and JENNIFER and I began throwing things out the window onto the fleet of Salvation Army trucks in the lot below. Why? I dunno. The sill was messy.

At around 2:00, GAMER complained that the bar wasn't serving drinks anymore, and the word got to us that the party was shutting down. Apparently, those two stalls, the urinal and the sink weren't satisfying the hordes, and the police had been notified once people took to relieving themselves in the elevators, the utility closet, and cascading a peefall down the stairs.

MICKEY introduced me to his bathroom line buddy, a cop from Denville, NJ who was very good natured at the level of hilarity I found in the fact that he went to Morris Knolls High School. WE walked past the waiting paddy wagons to the nearest avenue and after nearly 15 minutes managed to hail a cab, only to give it up to the girl who was bleeding from her chin. After a short regrouping at COCKY's place, WE were passed out in the hotel. Sure I remembered to recharge my cell phone. But I forgot to brush my teeth.

I still can't believe the party got shut down because of urine.

My purse, which had been tucked in the corner beneath the window was wet. Must have been a gin and tonic.
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