Last night I went to a party thrown by Ian Gerard, co-founder of Gen Art with my friends Ildiko, a prolific and amazing writer; Jenn, a singer, the voice behind the "Wanna Fanta" jingle and back up vocals on many albums; and Stuart (not pictured), a successful screenwriter, who lives in NYC. The apartment, though art-ily decorated and complete with a large picture window that included the Empire State Building, Credit Suisse, and Met Life buildings in its view, was as big as a shoebox. I do not miss the teeny apartments. The place quickly filled with all sorts of people—most wearing black. Ian dusted gold glitter on his face because it was "festive." Most of the guests weren't too friendly, the two girls below refused my invitation to mingle.
In fact, most people were startled by my willingness to talk to strangers. But these two men were not. The dude with hair is a hairdresser in his native Australia, I have no idea who the other guy is. And I don't know what they were looking at, but this picture does make me a little uncomfortable. 
After a bottomless glass of wine, we left to go to a Brazilian nightclub and danced our asses off, I got drunk, gloriously sauced, because I could. Because I was a cab ride, not a 10 West ride, away from bed.
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