Wonkette Party Crash: Washington Life's The Young and the Guest List
At right: Wonkette Editor Alex Pareene and BFF Reed Landry, founder of Late Night Shots, discuss the most polite way of weaseling out of telling a girl you've accidentally impregnated her. Then we went "skiing"!
You've been clamoring for them for nearly minutes and now here they are: your exclusive photos of Washington Life magazine's "The Young and the Guest List 2007" party event gala thing!
Your humble editor, being young and apparently even more of a tool than he thought, is on said list, and dutifully attended last night's soiree with Girl Reporter Liz Gorman, whose gallery of photos can be found right here.
Our brief write-up is after the jump.
Trying to convince us to go to your party? Here's a helpful hint: hold it two blocks away from our apartment! That's what WashLife did, renting out the gorgeous Meridian House. So after inhaling the traditional three gimlets at home, we set off to cross the park and mingle with 11 pages of glamour (pdf).
The bar: open! But poorly stocked and with lines lasting 15-30 minutes! But the bartenders were liberal pourers, so we got suitably trashed, as did everyone else.
The star power: Well, Juleanna Glover-Weiss was there.
The food: We ate a s'more on a stick, or something approximating a s'more in taste and texture. That was about it. We also stopped and got a Chilean-style empanada on the way to the afterparty, now that was pretty damn good..
The venue: While a lot of money clearly went into the party, WashLife didn't help matters by lighting a beautiful estate like a high school dance. Remember fuchsia?
There was a pretty decent funk band off in the one room, playing all the depressingly familiar hits to a crowd of intoxicated white douchebags -- it was a good scene if you're into loathing. There was a brief incidence of table-dancing and a couple entertainly out-of-shape dudes sweating buckets, but the whole room was a bit too wedding reception for our (admittedly vulgar) tastes. The lone highlight might've been the shaggy-haired guy doing a spastic sort of "dance" reminiscent of David Byrne in the Big Suit crossed with an extra in a '60s beach movie. A journo friend was equally transfixed by this guy, at one point admitting that he couldn't decide if he loved him or wanted to punch him in the face.
Out on the patio the smokers congregated in the chilly wind. We couldn't stay there too long after we overheard some cleaned-up hiptard tell his drunk take-down, "you know, this party's totally not my scene, but I'm having a blast."
As the party ground to a halt, we were approached by a Politico journo who shall remain nameless for reasons of him bugging the hell out of us. He introduced us to his childhood friend, Late Night Shots founder Reed Landry, who promptly took on the most uncomfortable expression a heavily-intoxicated child of privilege can manage, and held it for the remainder of our conversation. Journo brought out the notebook, then neglected to actually ask us any questions. It soon became apparent that he was hoping for fisticuffs, but your editor is pacifistic by nature and gregarious when drunk. Reed was, if not quite polite, at least mostly unhostile. We all had a good laugh about page views and unique visitors and how much we hate gays. Landry refused to have his picture taken with us willingly. In retrospect we wish we'd tried to kiss him.
Then we all went to Napoleon for the top-secret even-more-exclusive after-party that everyone knew about. The bar didn't seem to be free anymore, so we just stayed for that one last drink that's always the biggest mistake of the night.
Washingtonian's more cheerful write-up can be found here.