Hipster Party and How I Loved a Guy Who Loved Hammocks

It’s no secret that I’m broke. I was broke the day I was born and will probably exit it broke as well (if student loan debt is any indication). As I’ve mentioned, I work for a Jewish non-profit humanitarian organization here in NYC. So, my point is that I don’t get out much. Non-profits don’t make you a millionaire and the only people I really know in this city I either work with, live next to, or the few strays here and there I knew in another lifetime (and they decided to move here as well).

Near the end of work, one of my co-workers, “Celia,” who has also written/produced an off-Broadway show, invited me to go to this party. Well, let’s not lie, I was invited to represent the organization, not as a real guest or anything, which is just fine with me since mingling and socializing are NOT my forte. Having some sort of “job” at a party would enable me to enjoy it without feeling obligated to mingle. Seems Celia knows a guy from college who is now some big fancy stockbroker making tons of money and apparently has given quite a bit to our organization here and there. He was throwing the party for his co-workers and such. Paying for this posh meat-district private party in a swanky club, and including a totally free bar all night.

What’s that? Totally free bar? I had my first shot within 15 minutes of being there. A few hours later I was floating on air and loving everyone, as were my three co-workers. Trying to push a charity during a snazzy party in a very dark room lit by the occasional candle was not that easy. Besides, like I said, I suck at schmoozing. One of my co-workers, in a previous post mentioned as “A-Mot,” managed to score $1200. I felt stupid.

Let’s talk about A-Mot again. As always happens, A-Mot was my big “work crush.” Just my type, brainy, mild-mannered, HOT, and … stuff. He even occasionally wears those Clark Kent glasses which drive me crazy. My interest began to wane simply because I got bored with no action. And then around election-time, I was walking with him and another friend and out of A-Mot’s mouth comes, “Oh yeah, MY GIRLFRIEND BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH...” Don’t ask me what the fuck he said after that.

*SIGH*

Of course.

Anyway, I’ve been REALLY off him since that, though I can wait. I’m pessimistic about relationships, especially of anyone in their early thirties or lower. I feel like if you really like someone who’s got a gf/bf, then just wait. I mean, still date, search, flirt, whatever you do with the other fine species out there, but keep an eye on the prize as well.

ANYWAY, back to the party. I really don’t drink that often, though I’d say about ½ the time that I actually do, I kind of go nuts. I’m not apologizing or making excuses – it feels great and it always comes at the right time. Plus it gives me just enough social lubrication to do what I want but not might when I’m sober.

Plus, it sure helped a lot that A-Mot was drunk as well. Of course, he seemed fantastically charming to me that night.

I wish I remembered more from that night, but there are three distinct things that jump out at me – one was cute and funny, one was warm and fuzzy, and one was just damn embarrassing.

Let’s start with cute and funny since it’s harmless. Basically, after spending the whole night with A-Mot and the other co-workers: The Tower (male, 6’6 tall), and “Heather” (fun, desperately-seeking-nice-guy-with-benefits), we were all drunk and all friendly, floating from here to there, smiling, and occasionally dancing like idiots. At one point, when we were leaving, we were going down in this gigantic freight elevator (it’s just so COOOL to be going down in a freight elevator), and A-Mot started wildly dancing in front of me (not to me), doing some things that convinced me that the man is very flexible. I wonder if he stretched out before the party. I was sitting in this chair in the elevator, near passing out, and then nearly puking with laughter after he started his personal jig. I wish I could show a small movie of it, since it was like watching Plastic Man boogey, but I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Warm and fuzzy happened twice, I think. Well, I know it happened once for SURE. The second one may just be fantasy. It was pretty late in the party. I was pretty smashed. The kind of smashed where you know you should just be still and quiet for a little while, utilizing Jedi mind tricks to calm your tumultuous stomach. I was alone, leaning up against the bar, lazily watching the party slowly wind down. A-Mot comes up to me, and from what my hazy recollection can tell me, he asked me a series of questions, basically making sure I was alright, I think.

“Are you okay?”
- I’m fine, thanks.
“Do you want another drink?”
- Absolutely not.
“Do you want to go home?”
- Not yet.
“Do you want a hug?”
- YES!

Next, he held open his arms real wide and I held out my arms like a three year old wanting to be picked up by daddy. The hug was very tight, and very long. Even in my drunken state I remember thinking, “This is awesome! It’s going on and on!” Though of course I have been lusting for this guy for months, the truth is that I saw the embrace as a very warm and sweet thing, and not really sexual. Doesn’t mean I don’t attach sexual fantasies to it *cough* but it wasn’t like that. In fact, every time I think about it since then, I just grin. I want another hug.

I left the embarrassing to last. You might not consider it as humiliating as I do, but then, I obsess. Background: many months ago when I first started lusting after A-Mot, I did what I always do – relentlessly research him (mostly through Google-related sites) to find out as much information as possible. I remember one of my main goals was simply to find out his age. But I found out a lot – like that he had gone to some damn fine schools and was a super-genius scholar for a bit. (*pant pant*). He also writes poetry, is a political activist of sorts (women’s empowerment and justice in Latin America), and one of my favorites – he loves hammocks!

Laugh if you will, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE hammocks. Like riding horseback, it’s one of those things I never get enough opportunities to do. I could buy a hammock, sure, but where the hell would I put it? In my tiny NY apartment? Slung from what? The cracking window frame to the chipping-away door? So, his comment stuck with me. I love a guy who loves hammocks!

So, at some point late into the evening when I was drunk enough to be chatty and close to him and yet TOO drunk to be using any kind of real discretion, I leaned over and whispered into his ear something to the effect of how I loved the fact so much that he loved hammocks. His face got all confused. You can imagine his surprise. Almost immediately after it emerged from my mouth I knew I had faux pas’ed badly! I tried to back peddle, but how the fuck do you back peddle from that? He was like, “Um, how do you know that? Did you read my bio or something?” I don’t know what I spluttered out to try to appear flip and regain some semblance of dignity. The world should just have swallowed me up at that point and gotten it over with. Now, I can’t remember exactly at what point chronologically happened during the night. I just HOPE it was before the hug and not after.

To try and placate myself, I do remember that at some point AFTER that he made a comment about going over to the plush and comfy couches set up around the large room to sit down and we did, well, we sort of landed on them after losing our sense of gravity. I have a pleasant memory of being sprawled out on this couch next to him and oh-so-nonchalantly having my right arm resting on his left thigh. Well, it was nonchalant initially, but at some point I did realize where my hand was and did not remove it. Sadly, the others came over and we all left after that.

At work the next day, I was…..late. As I reached my desk, my co-workers kept commenting on how A-Mot, Tower, and Heather had all been at my desk several times already to see me. What a bonding experience alcohol is! These are three people at work that I would normally never be going out with. No we’re all chums. As I sat down I saw three post-its stuck to my screen that looked somewhat..phallic. “Who put these penis post-its on my screen?” I asked. Then right after that it clicked. It was a salt shaker! The next one a bottle of tequila, the next post-it, a lime. I guess my drink of choice that night was well-known.

And sadly, everything did go back to normal. A-Mot and I did not suddenly become deeply in love. But thankfully, the hammock comment hasn't been mentioned, so I am praying that he was too drunk to remember it (yeah, right). Life goes on, I guess. At least now I am comfortable with him (hopefully I will no longer trip in the hall again when he appears), and will look forward to future opportunities. And … wait.

P.S. Oh, and I forgot to tell about Heather and “Mandy.” Mandy was A-Mot’s childhood friend who was brought along to the party. I call him Mandy since he had a striking resemblance to Mandy Patinkin, though admittedly, he was much younger, and hotter than the real Mandy. He hit on me, and others, before settling on Heather. I liked him, but I kind of got the feeling he was looking for a vagina, and not a woman. Not that I’m against meaningless sex, but I was too distracted by the unavailable, hug-worthy A-Mot. Heather did take him home that night, and just like the scumbag guys you hear about….he never called again.