Aftermath

Last night was crazy; eight people, most near strangers having dinner at Primehouse http://eater.com/archives/2007/10/the_dish_primehouse_new_york.php
Primehouse is a large stunningly decorated- black and white, mirrors -nouveau steakhouse on Park South.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, making chit chat as we drink and get to know each other . The centerpiece of this dinner party are two people I know who I've introduced. The other six are witnesses to their first date. After two hours at the bar, we finally decide to get a table. There's much dancing on who will sit next to whom, and it ends up boy-girl-boy-girl.

We're laughing loudly, there's innumerable smoke breaks, someone orders bottle of champagne, a bottle of white appears, then something else, who can look at the menu with all this glorious chatter?

My across the table dinner partner is Dan, whom I've met before. He recently lost his grandmother, and I have recently (not as recently as Dan) lost my mother. I move over to his side of the table and we talk about non-party topics. I scoot back, everyone is playing musical chairs; one moment we're all sitting, the next... this is what happens when you get a bunch of social butterflies. Andrea brought the comic book she's working on. I impatiently wait until R's done viewing it so I can look. Oh, it's breathtaking, the artwork, the story line, it's amazing. Andrea mentions that she created a comic book so, "that all her friends can live there and have fantastical adventures."

Around 10 we finally order. The width of my steak is wider than my head. I look at it confusedly, I'm supposed to eat this? In one meal?

After dinner, it's decided that we're all going dancing. Colin's driver is woken up and the SUV is pulled around, 180 people pile in. No, not that many, but it did feel like a clown car. Blaine, who's been drinking champagne since brunch time is curled up around me, playing with my hands and crooning, "I'm the word, I'm superbr, I'm hot, I'm hot...baby if you want to find you, you gotta google me,"http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=76423635

over and over, and over, and over again.

We finally pull up to this club without a name somewhere in the L.E. S. hey, I was in the very backseat, what the hell do I know? Us back seat people were discussing different types of vodka.

We walk into the club. It's kinda small with white floors, a large bar, a raised area with a few tables and a stripper pole in a recessed niche. Hmmm, dancing!

A bunch of us danced, drank and flirtede. I left before the drama started and was home by 2:30am.

The next day, I crawl out of bed and stumble into the living room. My feet hurt because of the high heels, I can't turn my neck and my arms are sore-damn stripper pole-after downing advil, my cell rings.

"Hey PJ, I'm in my bedroom, where are you?"

"Hey Michelle! I'm in the living room, you wanna come out?"

After not seeing the roomie for, oh I don't know three or four days, we sit on the couch and re-connect. She tells me about one of her dates, "so we're walking through the park and talking. Finally,he puts one hand around my waist. Then he takes my hand. My waist is happy, my hand is happy, but he still hasn't kissed me!"