Early on at the party, when I still had my wits about me and could hear myself saying choice phrases, I told Adele, "This party is like a Who's Who of my sexual imagination." Because, really, who was not at this party? Name any former crush, present crush, or past sexual partner and pretty much every single one of them was at Ashton's gigantic birthday party getting insanely drunk off the copious amount of booze there. And of course, I wanted to talk to every one of them about this as you more than likely know.
I had smoked some pot with Ethan and finished off a forty even before arriving at this party and so arrived pretty wasted and only continued to get unnecessarily more so. It was raining when we went to the party. I brought an umbrella that I totally forgot at the party. I have left countless umbrellas all over this city while drunk. A dog pissing on telephone poles; showing I was there. But perhaps the real sign of how drunk I was, aside from the painful hangover I am experiencing and the cringing recollections of spilling drinks off a table, throwing myself at crushes, and giving head in the bathroom, there is the evidence of a broken phone. I am not even sure how that happened, but now my phone does not work in the slightest and I imagine I am not going to be able to get it fixed, get a new one until Friday at the earliest, so until then, e-mail is where it's at. Ben may have been the last voice my phone will ever know.
Toward the end of the night, all I wanted to do was talk to Christopher, the boy I have been obsessed with pretty much since I moved to New York and get him to make out with me, and like every other person I am attracted to, he told me how awesome I am and how we should be friends. I am so fucking tired of sublimating my desire to hump someone so that I can be friends with them and listen to them talk about boys whom they want to hump. I mean, it's just becoming a pretty common pattern is all. At some point in the night, I shared the bathroom with Christopher's friend to pee, some boy whose name I don't even know. And as he was zipping up, he made some joke about giving him head and I made some "Well?" expression with my eyes and briefly sucked this boy's penis and then kissed him even more briefly and then went back out to the party and only in passing asked myself why. I got myself a plastic cup of Carlo Rossi, the beer having run out, and that is how parties always seem to lead to their denouement, with Carlo Rossi. Where these jugs of Rossi come from, who the party guest is that brings these to most parties I attend I don't know, but they are always the last thing to be imbibed, and I drank the sweet red stuff that I hesitate to call wine and talked and talked to Christopher, oh, how I talked, how I always do and never seem to know when to stop.