Al Roker doesn’t give a fuck.

30 Jan
 I’m generally pretty broke, which I mind in a  “gee, turns out this winter coat I bought in Florida in 1999 isn’t warm at all; wish I could buy a new one” sort of way. I normally don’t mind it in a stratum of society sort of way, because according to literature, being a starving artist builds character or something. Also, I can make fun of rich people, but it’s impolite for them to make fun of me (What’s that? You have a hole in your kitchen floor? If I had a hole in my floor, I’d have a whole million dollars in there. Hem hem hem hem haaaaa <–rich person laugh).
This careful fantasy is easy to maintain because I don’t actually know any rich people. Most of my friends in New York City live in my old apartment, the Haus of Mad, which at one time had 6 residents if you count the Jamaican on the couch. The rest of them are bartenders who make decent money but still have to serve rich people, or they’re in the media but are seriously considering a side career in porn so they can pay bills/start a family/buy a winter coat.

Unknowingly, I changed all that this week when I accepted an invitation to what I thought was a press event for James Farmer, the “Ina Garten of the South.” That description alone should have warned me that I was way out of my tax bracket, and also that this was going to be less press junket and more fancy society party, but clearly I am inexperienced in these matters. The event was on the eve of another spectacular blizzard, so I arrived wearing enormous plaid rain boots and a hoodie under the aforementioned coat. My boyfriend, Tony Two Shoes, who is an even more legitimate starving artist than I am on account of actually being an artist, came with me.

Tony Two Shoes: *slogging through snow* “Are we theeeeeere yet? Where is this place?”

One Bad: “I think it’s another avenue over. It’s on fifth… *looks at poor man’s iPhone (map drawn on post-it note)*”

Two Shoes: “It’s on Central Park? Faaaaaancy!”
One Bad: “Shit. IS this gonna be fancy? Can I wear this?”
Doorman: “I’m dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, but the elevator is temporarily out of service. You’ll have to use the service entrance around the corner.”

One Bad: “Oh, that’s alright. We don’t mind.”

The service elevator turns out to be nicer than the elevator to my office.

Service Doorman: “You can leave your coats and *looks disdainfully at my rain boots* other things here.”

One Bad: “I’m afraid I don’t have any other shoes…”

Service Doorman: “….”

I'm going to need you to remove those boots before I have to get snooty.

The elevator opens directly on an entire floor apartment filled with women with creepily toned middle-age Madonna arms and too-smooth cheeks. The windows reflect the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. The women reflect Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’s entire wardrobe. 

Woman in a floral print garden dress: “I’m Samantha, James’ close friend? You know, James, the reason we’re all here?”

One Bad: “Yes, hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m with…”

Garden Party dress: “And you sir, you must be…”

Two Shoes: “I’m Tony. I’m just with this pretty lady here.”

Garden Party dress: *looks derisively at my hoodie* “Well, enjoy yourselves. Here, I’ll take your bag. There’s wine and cocktails right over here. I’m so excited for James tonight. He’s just the best. He’s a gardener and would you believe he’s really from a small town in the South? His food is just so authentic. You have to try this punch: The Southern troops gave them to the Union army and that’s why they didn’t burn Savannah. They were just too tired can you believe it theyjustfellasleepanddidn’tevenfinishwhattheycamefor!” *twirls away*

One Bad (whispering to Two Shoes): “Is she on cocaine?”

Two Shoes: “I sure hope so. This punch is actually kind of good though. Let’s go look at that crappy art over there.”

Two shoes is overheard by a group of women admiring a framed drawing of a tennis ball with the words “I swear I don’t like the tennis instructor. She just needs to grow up a little. Insecurity. You should probably not do so much cocaine.” underneath it. The women look disdainfully at my rain boots.

We think YOUR art is crappy.

One Bad (whispering to Two Shoes): “If one more person looks at my outfit like it’s covered in ebola virus, I swear to god I am going to take a crap in a potted plant.”

Two Shoes: “Holy shit, is that Al Roker? Let’s go ask him about the weather.”

One Bad: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

*clink clink clink clink*

Blonde in fancy white dress:  “Thank you for coming out in this horrific weather.  When James first asked us about throwing a party in New York City, I was so excited to offer my apartment. And then, of course, after it snowed, my husband and I were wondering if we’d have to recarpet!”

Rich People: “Hem Hem Hem Ha Haaaaa!”

One Bad (to Two Shoes): “Are they aware that this entire apartment has hardwood floors?”

Two Shoes: “Is there food? Let’s go eat stuff.”

The entire dinner is served on a plate the size of a 45. It consists of a single ribbon of steak and a handful of black eyed peas, plus accoutrements self-served with strange kitchenware. Many of the Madonna women appear to subsist entirely on white wine.

Two Shoes: “Do you think I can get seconds, or is that rude? Jesus, I don’t even know what to do in this place. Am I using my knife right? Can we sit in here? Am I supposed to pick up the oysters with this Jai Alai implement? What the hell is this thing?”

One Bad: “Oh my god. I dropped a bean on the floor. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Two Shoes: “Looks like they’ll have to recarpet.”

At this point, Al Roker gets up and manhandles several biscuits onto his plate. He smiles at several people, sits down someplace different from where he originated, and eats the biscuits with his hands.

One Bad: “Damn, Al Roker doesn’t give a fuck. I can respect a guy like that.”

Two Shoes: “We should watch his weather to the exclusion of all other weather. Seriously, people are leaving. Can we please get out of here?”

One Bad: “Yeah, let’s GO.”

*we grab two gift bags full of pecans and peach preserves on our way out*

Doorman: “I hope the evening was pleasant. May I call you a car?”

One Bad: “No, that’s alright. We’ll just take a…um… the train.”

Doorman: *stares open-mouthed*

Two blocks away, Two Shoes asks me what the hell was wrong with those people. I stuff a handful of pecans in my mouth.

“*chewing* “Who knoms? Wand som pecuns?  They’re free…”

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