And here it is, Part one?!?!

So I think now’s a good time to lay out the Reese story.  I honestly can’t think of a legitimately interesting post topic (because let’s face it, my life is full of problems that no decent human being can relate to), so I’m gonna cheat and rehash/recount something from the past.

You may remember I mentioned Reese in a previous post about Saturday Night Live cast members.  Ironically, searches for “SNL cast hangouts” are my main source of internet traffic.  How can I get rich off that?!  Naw.  Anyway, Reese.  I’ve had a little wine tonight, so I’m going to be brutally honest.  It won’t make me look like sunshine, but it’ll be more fun for you, my lone reader.

Ok, wow. So, we met on an interesting night.  I had been invited to attend a party at this dude’s super fance condo in Williamsburg (former center of the cool universe, current center of the commodification and consumption of cool), and the party was designated as “wear something elegant” or something.  I haven’t talked much about this group of friends, but they party like rich people.  Many of them are, it turns out.  I was lucky to be invited to this one (because I only get invited to about 5% of the total super-fun group activities they do, not because the swankiness was super desirable), so I went.  Earlier that night, and because when I get one invitation I get 30 on the same night, I had a back yard dinner party at an ex-coworker’s house in sketch Bushwick.  Which justifies my choice of slightly not-elegant clothing.  Ok, it wasn’t elegant at all at all.  I was just dressed for a sat night.  But if I had dressed fancy, I would probably have been shanked in the kidneys and left for dead.  Just sayin’.  Good thing too, because this guy had a hookup for the original Four Loko, which I tried for the first and last time (baby sips).

I show up at the thing.  It’s interesting.  There’s some sort of fancy laser light ball installation thing that works via remote control.  The place itself is two stories starting on the ground floor, with a back yard filled with beach sand (WASTE), with a sort of overhanging walkway thing leading from the back wall of the top floor to the ground.  Party upstairs, party downstairs.  Rich douches “spinning” tunes on fancy laptop plus PA speakers plus DJ software setups.  No-one dancing yet.  There’s food that’s trying reeeeally hard to live up to the “elegant” requirement.  Failing. And most people are in sharp suits and cocktail dresses.  Or fancy dresses from the 20’s complete with feathers and shit.  Whatevvvvzzzz. It was a little awkward for me, especially since my closest friend there (basically dominating the elegant outfit requirement) is also this girl I dated and got dumped by twice, and for whom I carry a touch of the hates right next to the torch, and probably always will.  She’s hot AND annoying.  She swooped me up (lets face it we have this insane chemistry, too, like Diane Chambers and Sam Malone from Cheers)

and took me around introducing me to the lovely people.  We had conversations that got awkward and from which people walked away without a word.  I was a regular fish out of water.  But not really, as my Diane pointed out to me.  And then her pointing that out to me turned into an excuse to get mad at me.  She stormed off.  And thusly was I liberated, free to cast my line as it were and see what I could catch.

First off, I ran into this crazy Polish chick I had sex with about 5 years ago.  Weirdly, she was a satellite of a completely different group of kids who I went to college with but don’t EVER see anymore, so it was a really interesting treat to run into her there in swankland.  She wasn’t happy to see me.  In fact it was pretty clear she had been nursing a grudge for all 5 years.  We had gotten hot and heavy really early in our fling, and then one night we had a date lined up but she she fell asleep and was 30 minutes late.  I had a headache and was in a foul mood so I told her we should just reschedule (she was still at home “getting ready”, and I was outside the spot).  I got on the subway home and when i emerged I had a string of intense voicemails starting with honey and ending in vitriol.  Moving on.

Ran into some dudes I knew and we rated ladies.  Turned our attention to guys and started rating them.  It turned out we were all super jealous of this dude who was basically a tall hipster Kennedy, who we all decided was going to nail whomever he chose that night.  We also figured he was probably going to ruin our chances with the ladays he didn’t nail.

So the party heats up and I see this tall blonde smiling and laughing and chatting with my acquaintances like she’s one of the gang.  Which intrigued me because I had never seen nor heard of this girl.  A regular piece of American apple pie she was.  And dressed well and cetera.  I don’t remember how, but I managed to get introduced and to pour on some charm and we talked and smiled and laughed and drank.  I have to admit she was pouring on quite a lot of charm too.  Then, of course, there was a bona fide fight upstairs.  Like between the rich dudes who really identified most with “street culture.”  I think one of the dewds was literally wearing a bandana.  You could see it through the floor-to-ceiling large plate glass windows from the ground level.  And hear the shattering tinkle of some fine crystal getting smooshed.

I took my cue and wandered away (you don’t want to cling at parties, it’s a recipe for failure).  And I got swept into a tiny whirlwind around this shorter, crazier brunette.  She was the real fire at the ball and we swapped a few jokes slash flirts.  But nothing deep or memorable until i passed her on the “dancefloor” upstairs.  I sort of fake danced behind her, which she embraced as real, and we danced a little…ironically and not.  We swayed and moved closer, smiled, and she grabbed my junk, and then breezed away smiling even more.  After that, I guess the ice was broken so we talked and laughed and I’m having a great time.  Meanwhile it had started raining.  People were escaping the back yard, tracking wet sand into the ground floor.  Until the water, which hadn’t been draining from the “beach,” began to encroach on the indoors.  A drain in the bathroom also began to let water into the house.  Everyone fled upstairs, people began calling cabs, which of course everyone in the neighborhood were doing, so there weren’t any.  I went to the bathroom and saw that Reese was still there still having a good time still charming all and sundry around her.  When I returned upstairs Brunette was gone.  She had driven (her car!) to the party so I assume she drove away too.  I also assume (and I’m always right about this shit) that she either had a boyfriend or a fiance or a husband and needed to get the fuck out before she went “too far” with the random dude from the dancefloor.

At the time I just felt rejected.  Chastising myself for letting the rush of a junk grab distract me from the real prize, I VERY drunkenly staggered up to Reese and asked her for her number.  She obliged.

Having gotten that, I felt better.  I waited in the hall by the front door for a cab with a bunch of friends who happened to still be there as well, and when one finally pulled up I piled in with (lo and behold), my Diane.  When her stop came she dragged me upstairs to her place and we had probably the best night we’d ever had.  Not going into detailz, losers.

So.  A few days later I summoned up the courage to call Reese.  She does not have voicemail.  What?  No voicemail? What. The. Fuck?  So what do I do? I leave the rest of our story for PART 2.  It gets better and worse.