I was sitting in the VIP section upstairs at Domaine, drunk as hell on three vodka gimlets, one large glass of this vodka made from Champagne grapes, and a third of a bottle of really great Champagne when it occurred to me that I was really fucking drunk.
I had spent the early part of the evening at Karen and Gregg’s fabulous Gold Coast apartment, enjoying myself at their spring cocktail party. Lovely young people in tuxedoes passed around beet lollipops, prosciutto pizza, and rare roast beef on toast while I drank, admired everybody’s outfits, and chatted happily with Kevin, Michael, and John. Karen had been Michael’s boss, and the two of them had become quite good friends. Karen and her husband had asked Michael to invite a few young people. So I arrived at their apartment bearing a box of truffles from Vosges, checked my coat with the doorman (their apartment building has a coat check – so cool), and went upstairs. Mixing with a bunch of socialites was, in fact, quite fun. All the designer shoes, the beautifully decorated apartment, and the lovely people – *sigh*. Karen and Gregg were fun, and spread the joy to me and their other guests. They introduced us around, pronouncing us geniuses and such. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn’t care. I had a wonderful time.
I got a bit sloppy, too sloppy to go see a show at Schubas’ with Jean (I wouldn’t have been able to stand for two hours in my heels) but not quite so that I could turn down John’s suggestion for a brief visit to Domaine, just around the corner from Karen and Gregg’s place. The club was lovely — old movies projected onto screens and chairs upholstered with luxurious fabrics. A library on the far end of the dance floor paneled in dark woods, fake elephant tusks marking the entrance. Because John had done work (the nature of which has been erased by my brain – something to do with computers and lights and sound) for the club, we were able to get upstairs and hang out while a “Joe Millionaire” look-a-like acted as hour host and lit our cigarettes. It was John’s idea to have the vodka made from Champagne grapes, and then chase it with a bottle of Champagne.
Oh. My. Goodness.
At some point, I was shouting about how my little silver bullet “toy” needed a name, and why didn’t it have a name and shouldn’t it have a name and blah blah blah. John suggested “Tonto”, which was satisfactory. I went home and found Jacinda about to take a shower. She came out to talk to me while I sat on the floor, saying that I smelled vaguely of grapes. So yeah, I was stinking drunk, but at least I smelled pretty.
I got up the next day with a sharp headache. I took some ibuprofen and tried to drink as much water as I could gulp from my Brita pitcher. I considered calling Jean to apologize for flaking on her the night before when Christine called, causing me to lose my already addled train of thought, to invite me to dinner. She was getting her masters’ from IIT the following day, and she and her parents were going to dinner at Roy’s and did I want to come? Oh, sure. So I got some daisies for Christine, got on the bus, and rode the bus for a bit until I hopped out and got a cab because I was running late.
So Roy’s is a Hawaiian fusion restaurant and it’s so yummy. Okay, so I was nervous because I’d never met Christine’s parents and I was late but then it’s not like I’m her girlfriend or anything so I settled down a bit when I took my seat and a large plate of spicy shrimp shumai appeared in front of me. Christine’s parents grilled me about my work while I tried to decide between the soft shell crab and the spiced prawns. There was no question about dessert – chocolate souffle which oozed hot fudge when you cut into it. After dinner, Christine and I walked up to the Esquire Theatre where we saw “A Mighty Wind”. Yes, that would be the third time I’ve seen it.
Sunday was gray and kind of gross, for the most part. I picked up some lumpia at Uni-Mart before heading to Jorge’s for a supafriends picnic. The lumpia went quickly while we waited for the grill to heat up. We all caught up, I got some new CDs (store next to Chris’ work was having a big sale), and I ate a great deal of meat. It had been so long since so many of us had been together, since we’d had a quorum that I stood up Jenny and Erin so I could hang for a bit longer. Sure, Jenny and Erin probably hate me now (and Jean, too) but I needed to be there.
Um, my condolences to Adrienne, Jean, Theresa, Wil, Sebastian, Michelle, and Kate. Buffy is no more. Now where am I going to get my Andrew fix? If I must hunt down Tom Lenk in order to make him my boyfriend, then so be it. Grr. Argh.
In the next flip front: more thoughts on Buffy. Andrew and Rozi in Chicago. Johnnie Walker and me: partners in boozy goodness.
“I’m of legal age for whiskey, voting and loving. Now the next election is two years away, and my lovelife ain’t getting much better, so how about some of that hundred percent?”
Billie, ‘Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!’
PS: I saw “The Matrix: Reloaded” last Thursday. It was really good. If you want a good story, talk to my brother who was on “Access: Hollywood” and met Kristin Kreuk of “Smallville” while he waited on line for the movie. When the AH people asked him what movie he was waiting to see, he said “Chasing Papi”.
PPS: My brother is a genius.
Janet Jackson – The Pleasure Principle; Belle & Sebastian – I Don’t Love Anyone; Fischerspooner – Natural Disaster; The Beat Junkies – Without A Doubt; Billie Holiday – East of the Sun (and West of the Moon)