Famous People #26: "the beast" is who?
Kaitlyn: Loren’s 30th birthday party was at a bar in Long Island City called “The Beast Next Door.” Lizzie was not there, because she was mini-golfing, as she has already told you. On the Facebook event for the party, she remarked something like “have a 4loko for me!” Quietly, I responded, “People are going to think we’re never together, given all these party reviews where we’re apart.”
But, listen, sometimes we are together. Okay? I don’t need to prove it to you, but Lizzie and Ashley were with me just last Thursday at our favorite frat bar, mere minutes after I found out that the “feminist media startup” I was working at was no longer going to exist, effective immediately. I received this news while wearing a pair of stained second-hand overalls and a striped tube top, sitting in the 15th floor lounge of a 4-star NoMad hotel. In the elevator on the way back down to Park Avenue, my now-former coworker asked “Why were you folded in half?”
I keep describing my NDA as “the action thriller of the summer,” but even saying that, I am pretty sure, violates it.
Anyway, Loren turned 30 and her boyfriend (who is fine, which is the top mark I have ever given a friend’s boyfriend) proposed. It was what you might call the perfect proposal — at an age-appropriate time, not likely to be a mistake, with an understated and elegant ring that suits a woman who is probably one of the 10 most important people in her professional field but also “a little bit Texas.” The proposal was in the street, at night, at the end of a day that was 90 degrees, and somehow she looked incredible in the photos. She announced it on Twitter! The birthday party was two days later and Loren was almost immediately the kind of drunk that makes people second-hand tipsy and second-hand exuberant. As in, genuinely these are celebration drinks, and not the kind of “celebration” drinks that make you worry about your emotional health. The bartender hated all of us, but that seemed like her problem.
Loren’s fiance (a TV guy) paid for an open bar from 2 PM to 4 PM, and Loren recommended that I try a bourbon-based cocktail that was a watery-shade of mustard. I was like, “I’m unemployed! I’ll try anything!” but could not actually drink it. I carried it around and ate one toasted bread corner, waiting for someone to be stimulated by my opinions on the bartender, who I felt I was paying closer attention to than most, and who I felt was kind of a demon. I was worried no one was taking note, because most journalists are actually pretty bad at observing things happening in proximity to their conversations about themselves.
I know that’s mean! But I was the type of hungover where every new scent you run into becomes a fresh national crisis. Frankie drank the bourbon, and also he wore a fanny pack.
Jake’s girlfriend doesn’t come to any parties because “media people only talk about media,” and typically I think she’s being very slightly unfair. Some guy I apparently worked with for several months told me his latest video got 3 million views and that people keep sending him compliments on Instagram that he’s “just not ready for.” You know how sometimes you can’t imagine being physically strong enough to move through the world in the way that you want to? I am not trying to be dramatic about my hangover — it wouldn’t have been such a big deal if not for the fact that it trapped me in my body during this conversation.
And it only happened because I split a tilapia sandwich with Rachel and then drank four glasses of wine and a margarita in two hours. It’s not like I am out of hand, I just regularly forget everything I’ve ever learned about water.
I gave Loren a card with a quote from Tom Sandoval on the front in glitter, which I made in bed that morning after brushing my teeth four times.
One by one, every person I have ever known in New York media approached me and asked how my job has been going. It was crazy that I couldn’t get drunk without dying. It was crazy that Frankie didn’t leave. I wonder if he counted how many times I said “It’s totally fine! Don’t be sorry!” If he did, he politely abstained from telling me the final tally. We only got mad at each other one time, when I accidentally pulled a cocktail menu out from under some man’s elbow and Frankie said “I’m sorry” to him.
Actually only I was mad about that and I think I was overreacting.
Anyway, another common question was “Where’s Lizzie?” and it hurt as much as the other question.
Ashley got to the party at 6 PM and said “I don’t know what happened. The bus!” She had new red acrylics and smelled like herself. As in, she was wearing Glossier “You” perfume, which makes you smell the way you already smell. Eau de You. That’s literally the pitch! She’s beautiful. We went to a bar that looked like the inside of a bad person’s mouth, except everything you could buy there to drink was $16 or more and came with a ice cube shaped like a stick of butter. She said she was going to go home and drink some pumpkin cider we bought over a year ago. She also said her ex-boyfriend is currently hosting poker games at his apartment — at the request of a stranger — and we were like, “Oh, he’s going to jail?”
Party Review Metrics:
Did anyone bring a dog?
No, but somebody gave Loren a teddy bear that could pull its own face off, revealing a plastic skull and plastic eyeball tendons and plastic gums and all that. 14 people took Boomerangs of it! It wasn’t the most fun to watch, if I’m honest.
Did we hear any good secrets?
I told Frankie some pretty mild gossip about everyone in the room, hoping it would make the event “worth it” for him a little bit, but I don’t think he found any of it especially interesting. He did say, the next day, of one of the men at the party, “I didn’t like the way he looked.”
Did anyone get engaged?
Yes! And if I’m not invited to this wedding I’m going to pull my own face off.
Did anyone get famous?
Jake’s girlfriend, for being the smartest woman alive. And “the beast,” for remaining a mystery.
Party Score:
“It’s totally fine!” Lots of glitter in my bed now.