the smack factor

Last night I went to Stoli Hotel at Mansion in Manhattan. Mansion occupies the same space as Crobar and also is where I went to ANOTHER stoli event with my friend Hamster (real name changed to protect the guilty) only it was called the Pink elephant. Now, i won’t get into whether this space just exists to host events or what, but I do wonder. Anyway.

Huge balls of bulbs thrust out from the ceiling and, well, lets go over the sparkliness of the evening:

It was free. free stoli bevvies and free cocktail food.

Remember back in the day when you’d climb in the back of mom’s station wagon (you know the one… it had faux wood on the side… or at least the gear shifter thingy in the steering wheel and not the center column) and excitedly head to the bank drivethrough. The excitement was for that tube thing that’d shoot through the vacuuum with a slip of paper… and then return with money in it? Well last night, there were two tubes like that on either side of the DJ - only they were filled with girls.

In college, I never had a fake ID. I still look like I’m 12, and as a college kid I knew no matter how good the id, it would never work. Plus, I’m a horrible liar so the ferocious giggling would make it useless too. Point is, i had a hell of a time getting to the stupid westide/Chelsea location and then when I got there, I realized I had forgotten my damn license. Why? Because I switched out to a cute small bag instead of my honking huge one. I grabbed Quail and said “I have to go home, i don’t have my ID.” To which, without hesitation, Quail says “just use mine!” She whips it out, hands her license to me and says “ok, let’s go” and drags me in the door. I’m 4′11″ brown eyes, dark brown hair. Quail is tall (to me), slim, blond.
I got in.

There were two U shaped sheets hanging from the ceiling. Girls who looked to be painted with latex got into the sheets, and did this crazy Vegas/Cirque De Soleil spinny wormy above the crowd human chandelier dance. It was pretty cool. Every once in a while, one shiny slippery glittery arm would pop out and I’d have the sensation of needing to rub it with oil.

At one point, each of us had run to retrieve a drink. Which meant, lined up on the couchback in front of us, were at least 6 full drinks.

We were promised mini burgers. There were no miniburgers.

And there were pigs in a blanket as far as the eye could see.