We made it! After 5 years of job hunting, apartment searching, eating Starbucks muffins for dinner, sex, booze, boys, fights, fears, tears, and smiles, we topped it off with a delightful Anniversary Party. Yay us!
Approximately 55 guests showed up at Kabin Bar in the east village after the HUMONGOUS rain storm that kept people away for the first hour of the party. Our unofficial ‘theme’ of the evening was Invite Everyone We Ever Met In NYC. Thankfully, the spacious back room was perfectly decorated, lit, and temperature controlled. It was a combination log cabin motiff and Victorian sitting room, and our interesting mix of friends helped color up the place as well. Seeing everyone mingle together in the bomb-ass room was so much fun.
In preparation for the party, I sent out evites, emails, Myface and Spacebook event notices. I also arranged to have the room reserved and carefully and tediously put together a mix for my ipod. When I spoke with the owner about reserving the room, the only point of contention was if we needed a DJ for the evening. I told him that our ipod would suffice and that we would just need a cocktail server for all the booze we would be drinking. He said, “Well, you can make requests to the DJ if you wanted, they work for you.” Sounds nice, but again, I tried to get out of having to deal with DJ Stranger by telling him the theme of the party and how we wanted to have music that represented the three of us who were celebrating that night. He countered with, “Well a good DJ will make sure you enjoy the music, but that the music doesn’t overpower the evening.”
I gave up. He said we could have an ipod from 8pm – 11pm. Then, the DJ would arrive. I guessed that it was his nephew or something.
The music mix I created was perfectly sublime. It amplified the evening as the crowd got bigger. By the time 11pm rolled around, everyone was feeling pretty groovy. Our amazing cocktail server, Morgan, pointed out the DJ to me from across the room. I said, “Oh, is that him?” Morgan laughed and said, “It’s a her.” I never have trusted girls that look like boys and I never will.
I introduced myself to the DJ, who’s name was Biet (Beeyut), and who I thought was French, but according to her myspace profile she is from “New York City, Alabama”. I asked, “So what sort of tunes do you spin?” She looked me square in the eye and said, “I know what’s going on here.” I took that to mean she saw the giant amount of gayness going on throughout the room and she would pick her tunes accordingly. I told her I trusted her and she proceeded to play two songs that I had already played earlier in the evening (Fatboy Slim’s ‘Praise You’ and Sam Sparro’s ‘21st Century Life’).
I thought that may be a good sign, even though it was repetitive, it was the right style. Well, we soon found out that was a trick to get us to be on her side. She proceeded to play some gansta rap. 50 Cent has no place at our party. One guest went up to her and asked to play something “more gay”. Her answer? A 12 minute long Justice song. If you wanna play something that sounds like Daft Punk, just play Daft Punk! I don’t wanna hear some clunky bullshit parading around as gay dance music. She had turned our party into a meth den with hard, pounding beats which were totally void of any melody. I could appreciate what she was trying to do, but it just wasn’t jiving with this crowd. So many people asked me, “What happened to your ipod?”
I had had enough of this girl. If it was a cute boy mayyybe I would have let him try for another 45 minutes. Time to fire her. In the nicest way possible. I asked Morgan how I could go about putting my ipod back on. She said, “Just give it to me. She gets paid whether she spins or not. I’ll take care of it. I hate her anyway.” Sweet! Five minutes later, Morgan had our party back on track with Princess Superstar blasting from the speakers. I was about to feel bad when I saw Biet packing up her gear, biet then someone told me that the last song she played was her own original song. Lame. You’re a loser. I’m a winner.
Speaking of winners, we let two random people into the private party. They were brother and sister, so they said. I am not sure. He was very upbeat and friendly and brown, she was whiny and needy and white. When she wasn’t busy guzzling chardonnay, she kept demanding that I play Britney Spears. I told her that I had just won back the night from the DJ and I have a playlist already in motion. No girl tells me what to play at our party that I’m letting you attend.
She stomped her feet and acted like a two year old. I’m not kidding. Any chance of playing Britney Spears vanished because I refuse to reward that behavior. I laughed and tried to walk away, biet her brother was nice and bought the three anniversary boys drinks, so I wasn’t openly rude. Somehow, I let her get my phone number and she ended up calling me at 3:52am, 4:04am, 4:12am, and 4:15am. Who knows why. I pretended I was asleep. Maybe she thought she was calling Britney Spears. She was that crazy.
The room closed at 2am. We caused some drunken debauchery in the streets for a little while. Someone made us pose with our ‘Happy Anniversary’ sign, the only decoration at the party. It was pretty fun until Jeff and Eric turned into zombies and tried to eat me.
See? Jeff and Eric became motherfucking zombies! I love those zombies!
The entire evening was a goddamn delight! Thanks friends! Thanks Morgan! Thanks brown guy and your “sister”? Thanks to everyone biet Biet! Here’s to another 5 years! Only this time, I want a nice apartment, a nice boy, and a nice role in a movie or something!
