Siddown eatcha slice a' pizzer an' be quiet.

Aherm.
I think I am ready to tackle the blog that is New Years Eve.
Jesus H.

To begin, I am unapologetically bossy. So the evening began by me telling Sam and Scott to "hurry up and come over" so I could rush them to Studio B to buy tickets at the door before it was too late. I, of course, had mine already. Control.
Didn't matter. The genuinely mentally disabled "just off the boat" car service driver we had took nearly an hour to get us in "the vicinity" of Banker St. We had to get out and take a cab the rest of the way. Do you see? DO YOU SEE? This is why there is no meshing of the clans of Brooknah and Manhattan. Because of the great vehicular divide.

So we get there.
The doorman stole my water bottle but let Sam keep hers. Good thing because for once, she was the one hiding the vodka. Then some girl stamped my hand and I told her I had to go do some shit, what was the deal with leaving and coming back?
She informed me it was no problem as long as I didn't do too much X and sweat the stamp off.
Ok 1997 doorlady, I'm on tappa theeeat. Thanks.

So we were basically in and out, had to go see the Turkish Delight JJ at Southside Speakeasy and handle some biz. New Years Eve is the official night of "Be right back, gotta go pick something up." Duh.

JJ's tatas were on full display and we drank and drank a bit and the music was super crap. Sorry guys, no Coldplay allowed ever in public. But there were excellent people there so no big.

JJ and Marty Chops.

PS the sign above her head says SHOWERS OF HAPPINESS. Genius.
What happened before we went back to Studio B? Nothing I don't think, but I hadnt seen my girl in ages so it was a treat.

Back at Studio B (this is starting to read like a screenplay)
we found Sterp (the most beautiful girl in a black mini dress wiiiiiiiiiiiink) and got some wristbands which was helpful. VIP is overrated. There are a lot of dbags lolling around thinking being in VIP justifies all of their lameness. No. It doesn't.
Aherm: Fat guy in wife beater. Big Pun was sweatin.

Another lovely surprise, there is the handsome Russian vampire Mikael. Awes. So we sit and drink and drink and Kudu plays some serious gay club shit until midnight I guess when we had the countdown. I couldn't hear a thing for some reason. Clubs hurt.
Ah, at that time, Krista had arrived yay Krista the sweetest girl in this shitty city. I like to talk to her for long periods of time ignoring my surroundings.

Here's Sam and Scott before they started arguing about nothing. Oh Sam. Kiss and make up assholes you know you lurve eachother.
Drum roll. Slick Rick the RULER at midnight or somewheres thereafter. AWES. There was some old school new school shit happening, I was the annoying white girl yelling all of the lyrics. I also elbowed people to get camera phone shots. This is where you stop reading the blog, draw my face on a grapefruit, and pummel it. I am pretty sure I was the biggest asshole around at that point.


"Hi I don't really dance I just wear sequins and keep my shimmering afro sexahhh. No big."

Yada Yada, Slick Rick, bathroom photos OY,

girl talk, cigarette smoking, HEY LETS GO BACK TO SEE JJ!
OK, good idea.
At this point we have spent our life savings on cabs, whats the damage of some more money wasted?
So we walk in the barren wasteland that is Brooknah and run into a giant checkered bastard and his tranny sidekick. Awes.
He looks like Leigh Bowery only far less of a doughy mess. His name is Jordan. And he's creepy.




We get back to Southside Rarr Rarr Rarr, Miss Orlinsky shows up after shooting for Reuters in Times Square, how she escaped that is beyond me.

It's like 3 am and JJ is faced. I remember asking her for a drink and she said no because she couldn't "find it"
Find the drink?
Slow down sister you have to make it, you're the bartender.
Awes.

So more excess. Same story every year until you have kids and you have to pretend to like staying home watching fucking Shrek on DVD.
We shut the bar down I dunno what time I guess 5 something. We go back to JJ's for a night cap/ Ha.
Included in the next few hours is
1. me arguing with a tall puerto rican boy who I named 19 (as in his age from the looks of it)
2. Sam and some dude smooching like little birds
3. Katie passing out early snugged in JJ's bed with not a care in the world
4. JJ giggling about all the beers she took home
5. more JJ giggling as she played that SAME FUCKING SONG she used to play in our apt when she was fucked up....that rap bullshit "something something hammock man, what the fuck is a sammich man?" Ugh. Kill me.
6. I don't remember.

I had fun.
No makeout sesh.
No serious dance fever.
But it was a riot.

Until the following day when I crawled out of Brooknah hoping to be the victim of some stray bullet.





Pammy bitched the whole way back to the LES.


Love,
the girl who ended 2007 with 13 hours of destruction. Hol.Ler.