Saturday, September 23, 2006

I went to a party
I went to a party
yah dundun dundun dunDUN


Finally, for the first time in two years, Jeremiah and I are hanging out again. He arrived last night, and before he had too much time to get comfortable, I was all, "Let's go to dinner!" We went to my place of employment. Shut it! It's a good restaurant, and the drinks are always cheap. :) So, anyhoodle, we went there, and I got to introduce Jeremiah to everyone. We got a couplefew drinks in us, and headed to Deep Ellum, to the magazine release party. We circled the venue approximately 20 times, before finally parking two blocks down the road. Egads! There was a line to get in. Y'all know how I get at parties and in bars. Luckily, I had enough champagne in me to steady my nerves. Although, since I was driving, I decided that I should probably take it easy at the party, lest we have to cab it home. That ride's a pretty penny. Cheaper than a night in jail, and assorted fines, though. So, the party was in this labrynthine warehouse space thing. Some many hip kids, stumbling over themselves to be the most awesome ever. I felt a touch out of place and old. Whatevs. I got some free green tea energy drink, J got a beer, and we walked. And walked. And walked. There were three levels, and each of those levels seemed to have its own sub-levels. And then somehow, we stumbled upon 42 different bathrooms. Everytime we turned a corner, there'd be another one. We went to one of the decks, and found Jeremiah's editor (I think he was the "at-large" editor, but it's slightly hazy). Yay! People we know. Or, at least, people J knows. He points to the other editor (just regular editor, in this case), and we amble through the crush of people to greet her. Actually, as she's telling some sort of story that involves mad gesticulations and her incredible, throaty laugh, J sneaks up behind her and lights her cig. So fucking sauve, that one. We talk for a moment, and then we are heading into another room. Then I feel it. Someone runs their finger down my spine. Before I turn around, I know who it is. It's The Flake. Open bar, not too far from his house. Should've guessed. He smiles, I smile back, but I do not stop walking. I grab J, and whisperyell in his ear, "That was The Flake!" He wants to go back. I say no, let's not. He says "c'mon", I say "be nice" and regret the sentiment before it's even completely escaped my lips. I don't give a fuck if J is nice to The Flake. But I said it. So, yeah, The Flake is there, with a friend or two that I recognize, and a friend or two that I don't. He seems on edge. I introduce Jeremiah, as I do every time we run into people I know at the party, "This is my friend, Jeremiah, he's a writer for this magazine." Every time I say it, I say it like the "Tribute" skit in Tenacious D. And then I wish that Smang were there, to appreciate my awesim humour skillz. So, The Flake immediately asks "Do you know suchandsuch? She works for your magazine. We just took all your staff out." He whips out his Crackberry, and show J her info in his phone. He looks insistently at J, who merely blinks. "She works with you!", The Flake insists. "In marketing", he clarifies. "Ah," sniffs Jeremiah. "Sales staff, wouldn't know her." I grin like a monkey. The Flake gets a tone. "Well, what do you do for them?" I instantly flash to my introduction. Not even 30 seconds ago, I said what he does for them. As I am saying, "I just told you, he's a writer", J is saying "I write for them. Monthly columns, articles, stuff like that." The Flake just stands there, with jaw agape. My oldest friend and I exchange "ready?" glances, and once again, we're walking. Over the din of the crowd, I hear my name being called by The Flake. We keep walking. Right into another room, and toward the exit. J asks if I want to leave, and I do. We head for the hall. We see a photographer, whom J knows. We talk for a bit. He takes our picture. It's perfect. We look great, and there's some random drunk dude in the background, with mouth open, eyes closed. I hope they publish it.