Here there is no revelry:
the sadness needs no leavening,
so loosen your boots and sit yourself down.
Lost inside the peloton,
with the Jerry Lewis telethon
ticking soft till I fall fast asleep.
Slipped away with candlelight.
leather chaps and cattle drives:
this is not the life I meant to lead.
Call it a detour:
ugly and impure.
But where is the life line,
here on the highline?
Well, despite about a million things that wanted to go wrong, and bizarre hang-ups, and complete sticker-shock, last night’s event went well. I won’t say without a hitch, because, dear God, there were many.
There is a lesson to be learned in all of this, please take heed; when you are asked to RSVP for an event, please do so. The hostess isn’t asking for you to let her know that you’re coming simply for the sheer posterity of it all. S/he need a fucking head count, and not RSVP-ing just makes his/her job that much more difficult.
That said, everyone seemed to have a good time. I didn’t talk to every single girl that came, but I think that everyone had a good time. The Boy enjoyed the menu i picked out, which I in-part picked out because I knew he would like it, and I was planning. There are some perks to running the show.
I think that the most fun of the night, or at least the part that resonated the most with me was when a group of girls and I went out for smoke breaks. Here I was, thinking that I was bad-ass in high school, smoking from the age of 16 on my way to and from Catholic school, and I wasn’t even doing it right. I was smoking with girls who had spent the majority of the junior and senior years smoking outside of the Arts building.
I guess I’m never as bad-ass as I think I am. [Sam] would be inclined to agree.