My "Goodbye New York" party was fun. From what I can recall. (Please hold while I scarf down cold eggs and two Advil -- surefire hangover cure or sidetrip to increased nausea?) I told a lot of people I love them. Several dozen times. And I did shots of what people told me were Patron and Blackhaus but which I suspect were actually pure gasoline. Yum.
Seriously -- people I didn't expect to see showed up (Hi Ana, Claire, Mark) and other people I haven't seen in a while (my JOE! and Anna and Kim). I chose Double Down as the location because it's also a bar in Las Vegas. What I didn't realize was that they also have TVs in every corner showing a mixture of masturbation porn and pornographic cartoons. I walked in to Chris and Kristen sitting with their mouths hanging open -- they almost didn't see me walk in. Good times. And a special shout-out to Andrea and her friends -- the only people brave enough to try the fabled "Ass juice".
Anyway, so I'm sitting here, hungover, surrounded by boxes, craving a bloody mary, watching a Tivo'd episode of Dancing with the Stars (I don't know about you but I'm rooting for Jerry) and realizing that this is my last hungover Saturday living in this apartment. Thanks to everyone who came out last night. Thanks for the shots and the hugs. Thanks for giving a fuck that I'm leaving. For some reason that makes the whole "dragging my candy ass across the country without knowing a soul in Vegas" thing a little less scary. Just promise that if I come back in a couple of months with my head hung in shame you will not make fun of me. 'Cuz it could happen.
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