January 13th 2014
Story originally written and experienced:December 31st 2013
His pants were completely broken.
And we were running out of time.
It was happening.
All of it.
Ever since I moved to this concrete madhouse labeled as New York City
My batshit friends from my classy ass college decided to thrive off of our separation anxiety issues and make an annual tradition to visit the Big Apple
As a group.
To be together.
The pressure was sky scraper for a 3rd successful reunion in this sleepless city I called home.
It had been 3 days into their annual arrival and the gang and I had successfully crushed delectable pizza at 5am wiping our faces with Halloween napkins we suspiciously acquired along the way
Invaded an empty bar in the deep depths of Brooklyn and convinced the owner to let us dine in with 3 full pizzas we bought if we promised to purchase 3 of their most expensive cocktails….each.
They said yes.
Did some light street reading compliments of my neighborhood anti evangelist:
Completely redefined ecstasy once the chicken and rice halal cart was eaten at 5am after making the taxi driver do donuts in time square so we could get the “full experience” of NYC.
And checking into our fancy pants hotel where we most definitely turned a 2 man suite into one that would fit 6 for the sake of financial bliss.
And after 3 days of galavanting in the city.
Passing out cold at the bars:
And dropping some serious beats on the subway:
Every member was both run down and well-fed. But tonight?
Was the damn night.
The night to rule them all. The night to prove that we really could pull off this tradition 3 years in a goddamn row.
And we did.
And the story goes like this:
The party started at approximately 10 pm but we really wanted a snack.
“What should we have as our last meal in 2013?” I asked the crew with minimal enthusiasm and a 3 day hangover on the mind
And we brainstormed a lot.
And no reservation and one decision later.
We invested in copious amounts of Pad Thai and Jungle Curry that were delivered straight to our damn door
And post our Pad Thai blackout we inevitably glanced at the clock and realized that we were running out of time, and naturally made a game place that went like this:
I finally rallied the troops with a mild success rate
To get them ready to head out the damn door.
We were attemptive in trying to look as put together as possible. And with mediocre faith I’d like to update you in saying that doing such a task has never quite been our forte.
And probably never will
But only because
– Snap –
“Oh fuck no.” I heard Al murmur from the neighboring room.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“My pants. They’re…broken.”
“…Do you have any other pants?”
“So you can’t do this tonight?”
“Do you have a safety pin?”
“I don’t…But I feel like that might be a dangerous gamble. Because of like the dance floor. And the sharpness…and the alcohol. That could turn into like a fish hook situation if you get particularly spicy with someone later in the evening…Idk.”
“…Okay forget the safety pin.”
“I only have one pair of socks left in my suitcase.”
“I feel like that’s fine since this is your last night here.”
“Yeah but…they’re polka dot socks…”
“…Why would you even purchase polka dot socks?”
“They go great with my broken pants.”
“Feel good to be a grown up?”
My group was shaping up to be quite the hott mess. Emma dressed in a sling from tripping over a pile of trash a few days before, Cameron bringing his favorite tie and realizing 10 minutes after we walked out the door that he had forgotten the damn thing elsewhere, Brandon packing the wrong pair of slacks and Al wearing his broken pants that perfectly paired with his polka dot socks.
As we picked up my batshit friend Nicole Detamble and her European boyfriend along the way.
Alas, we headed downtown to party our broken pants off. But the directions there were proving to be quite the bitch. We consulted Siri for optimal support. Her response was as follows:
And about 4 panic attacks, a mild case of hypothermia and one falafel cart stop later, we eventually reached our final destination where we were directed towards a small elevator in the back and instructed to press for Floor 6.
We had arrived.
The doors opened
Inviting in a wave of heat that traveled from the dance floor, loud volume bOoMing from packed conversation, and bLiNkInG lights ricocheting from
room to room.
My friends who had invited us immediately greeted us at the door.
“Heyyy!! Guysss!! Welcomeeee! We’ve got an open bar in the front and in the back. Dance floor is to your right. And the entrance to the rooftop is around the corner. We’ve got champagne ready for midnight and snacks stationed around the loft. Help yourself and have a good time!”
To which we were like:
We began heading towards the open bar in the back when I heard Brandon realy a “Jesus fucking Christ.” over the pOuNdInG Ke$ha tracks
“This place man. Every damn girl looks like a Victoria Secret model and all the dudes look like members of One Direction. No normal guy can pull of the hair styles these guys got. No fuckin way. I’m just gonna make myself a damn gin and tonic so I can look cool as sh-
Amidst Brandon’s attempt to booze into the new year, his hand selected bottle of tonic water went completely awry. Spraying all over by standers and his less than quick dry pants:
Leaving one member of my crew with broken pants, polka dot socks and no belt, whilst the other one appeared as if he had wet himself 4 seconds into the party.
– Crunch –
The fuck is going on.
Moments after I returned from my bathroom break (limiting myself to just one selfie)
I was on a desperate vendetta to find my friends before the grand stroke of midnight.
But I couldn’t find my damn friends anywhere.
Alas I spotted one.
It was Cameron.
…swing dancing with a box of stolen club crackers.
I then followed the crumb trails of this snack to find a stack of crackers glowing in the blacklight in the mouths of a few other my alcohol induced friends.
Desperate to find the rest of the group. I flashed my camera for a better visual capturing this attractive candid for the archives.
And eventually at 11:59 pm we all huddled together around the big screen. Champagne flutes in hand.
(And the club crackers too)
Where we gave a toast. And we gave a kiss.
And we cheersed to another successful year of rogue shenanigans and damn good friends.
The rest of the night was chock-full of two stepping on the dance floor
And after shutting down the damn party and destroying another box of club crackers like true ladies and gentlemen, I ventured over to the open bar and dropped really charming and adult like lines such as:
“Hey. If I say the word boobs. Can I have the leftover beer?”
To which they were like
And we rolled the fuck out with 24 beers in hand
Only to witness Cameron and Penny drop….22 of them on our way out.
But no matter.
We were gone.
En route to the local Belgian Fry establishment
A place where 32 sauces adorn hot and fresh fries at the end of each night, purely deep fried and seasoned by Jesus Christ himself
Vision was lost:
And dreams came true:
And with each passing bite at 5 a.m. I knew that just 5 hours into the New Year I had once again started and ended it with the very best people. Broken pants, wet pants, stolen club crackers and all.
And also realizing that, in 3 damn years a lot of shit had changed. But our unwavering agreement to do the damn thing all over again. With the same people. In the same place.
So cheers. To my old friends:
And the new. To all of my friends who have stuck by my damn side year after year, and to all of you I’ve collected along the way.
I hope we all make some new friends this year. Without ever forgetting the old. They’ve known you at your very best and your very worst and they apparently like you both damn ways. So cheers to your best friendships and the new ones too. And may you all get weird together for years and years to come. I know we will.
Like this post and want to be a part of my rogue shenanigans? For it. E-mail me here at firstname.lastname@example.org