I rang in ’09 much in the way I spent a good deal of ’09, bar hopping. Kara’s friend had a huge, open-ended party in her oddly spacious Brooklyn apartment, and subsequently her roof. A chilly December roof party is as awful as it sounds. But I have fond memories of that roof, and those parties, this just doesn’t happen to be one of them.
Once I had one too many, I started talking to Taylor and was down for the count. I had my target acquired, and my eyes were on my prey. But the thing about Taylor is I’m always the prey. Even when she’s drunk, vulnerable, hurt, or misguided, she’s still calling the shots. If you are spending at least ninety minutes on flirty banter with a gentlemen, it behooves most girls to have the manners to not drunkenly switch targets the second he goes to relieve himself off the vodka he merely rented. Taylor isn’t most girls. I came back and she was playfully touching another guy, a guy she wound up kissing at midnight.
