A Jay Gatsby look-a-like in a finely tailored suit saunters up to you with a Ketel martini in his left hand and a lit cigarette in the other. There’s a gleam in his eye and a pep in his step as he introduces himself.
You stand across from this guy, also dressed in a suit (which costs more than most peoples monthly rent) and drinking something positively ornate.
The host of the party is playing popular records from Stan Getz, Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, and Chet Baker.
Your friend in the tux has a girl around his arm who is almost perfect looking. She’s usually operating on one or more psychiatric drugs; tonight you believe it’s Xanax.
Everyone here is dressed eloquently. People probably have a choice of one or two domestic light beers and a plethora of cocktails, half of which you don’t even know how to pronounce.
The music is swinging, the booze is flowing, and you’re having the time of your life.
Now come back to reality and think about the last four or five parties you’ve chosen to attend in the past couple of months. Was the music good? Were there interesting people there? Did you have fun?
Or did you walk in like I do almost every time I enter a “party” and think to yourself “Oh, my God, I should have just stayed home”…?
There was probably a guy there who wouldn’t stop saying “It’s lit” after making a bunch of people crowded around a kitchen counter take shots. I’m sure some garbage song from Lil’ Uzi or 21 Savage blasted out of a bluetooth speaker.
There was almost certainly a couple in an argument there and I’m going to venture to guess that you saw at least one Four Loko shotgunned and a half gallon of Fireball which people slowly but surely began to drink as the night wore on.
Which one of those two parties I just described sounds like more fun?
I complained to a few of my friends last weekend that parties should all be like the first one I just described.
People in suits and cocktail dresses operating on prescription drugs while they guzzle drink after drink and talk about whatever it is that wealthy people talk about.
A mother fucking live jazz band, or at the very least someone spinning records to dance to in a corner.
To me, drinking is always better in a suit. That’s why weddings are so fun. You’re getting stupider with every sip you take, but you look amazing.
I get that at this stage in my life I’m simply not in a position to be asking for people to throw cocktail parties where everyone’s got a jacket and tie or Vera Wang dress on. It’d just be nice to be able to go to one every once in awhile, ya know?
And please don’t get it twisted. I’m not talking about some after-work event where everyone is showing up exhausted from being in the cube and there’s a two drink limit for each person.
I’m talking about a legitimate Saturday evening shindig with stiff martinis and people like Will DeFries muttering “That dress is so gauche” to me, his girlfriend, and anyone else that will listen to him.
I want a bunch of slightly disheveled dudes playing cards and drinking Ketel-rocks while their girlfriends laugh haughtily about their summer homes on the east coast.
Is all of that really too much to ask for?
Absolutely, yes. It’s totally unrealistic.
But this weekend when I choose to attend yet another party where everyone is drinking cheap liquor and trying to find a guy who has adderall (or worse), I’ll be daydreaming about the days when I can finally decline invitations to juvenile parties like this one in favor of more sophisticated soirees.
I’ll politely say something along the lines of “Oh, no I won’t be able to make it I have a prior engagement… but give everyone my best.”
I’ll mutter something out of the corner of my mouth (while still on the phone) into the master bathroom along the lines of “Muffy, please hurry up. The Johnson’s are expecting us in fifteen minutes and there will be a mirror for you to do your makeup in the car. You’ve been getting ready for well over two hours now, dear.” This is the world I go to sleep thinking about.
A guy can dream, right?.
Image via Youtube