Gather ‘round kids and I’ll tell you of a time I was drunk at a party…that’s right, come on over there’s plenty of room. Ready?
This one time, I was drunk at a party. It was in Los Angeles (or somewhere close by, but totally north of Irvine so it counts) at the end of a century of excess. Elmo was celebrating. She was down two pieces of clothing and it wasn’t yet after 11pm. Increasingly uninhibited humans were pressed against each other both intentionally and accidentally. Someone was chanting in the back yard. There was a guy passed out on a couch. His red solo cup of party liquids perched precariously on the edge of an industry mag on the table in front of him. The Beastie Boys were encouraging us loudly from a stereo in another room or possibly outside. Concentric circles of their beats pulsed through the party liquids on the various surfaces. The solo cup tipped and flooded the surface of the coffee table. I rescued a mass market paperback novel. Several hours later, Elmo was yelling at me for embarrassing them.
“Oh my gods, Cookie?! What the fuck are you doing?!” She whisper shouted while snatching the book from my hands. “This is an honest to gods Hollywood Party and you haven’t left the living room!” She dropped Red Dragon to the floor and looked around to see if anyone noticed. “I can’t take you anywhere… where’s my top?”