Category Archives: party

How To Survive A Party Alone.

debby harry, debbie harry, coney island, blondie

Sometimes one of the bravest things you can do is go to a party alone. That and playing dead around a bear. It’s a toss-up. I don’t know if this is limited to women, but all my lady friends have issues going to parties alone. The usual fears swim about in our heads: what if I wind up sitting in the corner all by myself? What if no one talks to me and the host is the only person I know and they’re going to be too busy to talk to me? What if I am unbearably (see, bringing it back to the bears) awkward? What if I am overdressed? Or underdressed? Or not dressed at all?

I’m here to tell you that you can do it. I’ve gone to parties alone and only one — ONE — was awkward and not fun. So what did I do? I left. It’s that simple! You say your polite goodbyes and then get in your mini cooper and get the hell out of there. Was it an icky experience to just talk to people and have them wander off so I pretended like I had a really urgent text message? Yes. Even Apocalypstick lets her self doubt take over sometimes. That’s the worst, when you feel doubt inside and so it seeps outside and it’s like, seep the fuck back in, but it’s too late.

So here’s what you do. Before you walk in the door, take some Vicodin! Or as I call them, ‘Lil Vickees.

Okay. Fine. That’s a terrible idea.

Instead, create the feeling of being on drugs in a wholesome way. Listen to your favorite tunes before you leave, and on the drive there. Pump yourself up. Create the feeling of euphoria without drugs. Yes, it can be done, I’ve seen other people do it. Music makes the people come to together, yeah. Music has been proven to make your brain happy, or something, I’m not a scientist with a computer, I’m just a girl, standing in front of the Internet, asking it to love her.

Other ways to get in a happy mood? Dress in your favorite outfit. Look good so you feel good. If you feel best in a pirate costume, you wear the damn pirate costume. What would Lady Gaga do, right? Or what would Kate Middleton do? Just use their spirits to guide you as you dress. You know those heels that make you look and feel like a Supermodel, even though you’re 5’2″ or whatever? Put them the fuck on!

When you get to the party, smile and introduce yourself to whoever answers the door. Or whoever is nearby if the door is unlocked. I hate that. I hate walking into an open house without someone greeting me. What are we, ANIMALS?

It also helps to bring something. A bottle of wine, perhaps, because that’s what adults do. Or fruit roll-ups, if you want to go in a totally different direction. Either way you’re saying, thanks for letting me in your home; allow me to buy your friendship.

Engage people. Join their conversations, but not in a weird way when you hear people laughing and you jump over and start laughing even though you have no idea what’s going on. That is never appreciated. If you meet someone cool while you’re making small talk, stick around them, but not for the whole party. You want a buddy, not a parent. Don’t be afraid to make the rounds across the room. Ask people about themselves. People love to talk about themselves, especially if you’re in LA.

If you take this approach, I guarantee that you will make friends by the end of this party. That’s what Uncle Almie did a few days ago, and I had an amazing time.

Oh and alcohol helps. Alcohol always helps.


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I Want The Wedding. Not The Marriage.

One husband. One wife. Whaddya got? Two people sentenced for life. – Nina Simone, “Marriage Is For Old Folks”

Oh Apocalypstick, what is your deal? Do you like weddings? Hate them? Do you want to get married or condemn those who do? Tell me your stories. Your dreams. Tell me everything. Okay, imaginary questioner. I love weddings, as long as you give me a plus one. I read wedding blogs like it’s my job. (IN NO WAY DOES THIS INTERFERE WITH MY REAL JOBS. JUST WANT TO MAKE THAT CLEAR. CLEAR WITH CAPS.)

I want a wedding. Why wouldn’t I? I LOVE PARTIES. The ceremony, not so much.

Here’s what I want. I want a Non Wedding Wedding. The invitations will say, “This is not a wedding. It is a celebration of me and whoever I tricked into being with me. There will be a party with an endless open bar. There will be a fantastic DJ, Sarah Jurassica Parker, and yes, that’s me.” I plan on DJing my own wedding. I’m really controlling about music. I got it from my cool Silverlake dwelling hip music industry bass playing cocktail aficionado uncle.

I just hate calling it a “marriage.” Some people get that, that you shouldn’t have to label it, and others say, well if it’s just a word why not use it and definite as you like? That’s a really cool idea in theory but our society (or at least the one I’m a part of) won’t let that fly. Our society is real uptight about marriage. Not just the “precious institution” thing but the little things, the things that you “should” or “shouldn’t” do. I’ve always wanted to wear my engagement ring as a necklace because I hate my stubby little childlike hands, and I don’t wear rings unless they’re huge cocktail rings, but that’s not important right now. But I know so many people who would not understand that. And that’s ok. But damn will it get tiring.

And I want an engagement ring but not a wedding ring. Again, yes, this is partly because of my little fatty elfin fingers, but I don’t want anything that says I’m married. An engagement ring is more like, I am with you and you are with me. It’s like a promise ring but with a diamond. Because I want a diamond. And I would wear it on my middle finger or my index finger, because those are the most flattering fingers for rings. Yes, I know I sound insane. I just really hate my hands. They’re freakishly small. I’m not exaggerating this, I’ll be conversing with someone and all of a sudden they’ll stop and say, “Oh my God, your hands are so small.” Continue reading


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High And Dry.

Photo of PrettyBoi by Ian Asbjørnsen

Hello everyone. I’m sorry I’ve been away. Like I mentioned before, I have a lot of insane things going on in my life right now. But not good insane, more like a “Let me tell my story on Oprah” insane or, to quote this dude Max, “Season finale shit” insane. I’m still not ready to talk about it, but I want you to know that I’m sorry I haven’t updated and I’m sorry I have responded to your emails. Don’t give up on me!

It’s very tempting to give up on people sometimes. We have all been guilty of that at some point in our lives. Maybe not Julie Andrews, but everyone else. And I am telling you, as someone who knows, please do not give up on your friends when they need you. Don’t assume that they’ll want to be alone or not want to be alone — just ask them. Ask them how they’re doing but really ask. Tell them to put on a party dress and take them somewhere, and it doesn’t matter if that somewhere is a party or a Supermarket, just do it.

My friend Kimme did exactly this. Despite the fact that she lives in Beverly Hills and I live in the valley and the restaurant was in Laurel Canyon and the party after that was in Los Feliz, she picked me up at my house. Now that is friendship. If you’re from L.A., you know that what I have just described is hardcore friendship. The theme of said party was psychedelic, post-apocalypse 60’s  esque pop stars or something, so naturally Kimme and I decided to dress in serious 80s fashion. She wore a boxy business suit with hair piled over to one side, and I dressed like a dancer from Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” video. We got to the party and Kimme introduced me to her friend whose mom actually was one of the dancers in the video. I apologized for accidentally dressing like her mom but thankfully she thought it was awesome. Then later I sat down next to this dude I’m pretty sure I’ve met like six times, who was wearing a jumpsuit and talking about how Prada’s new tan leather suit collection is “too mundane.” But it was exactly what I needed.

Reach out to a friend today you haven’t spoken to in a while. Call them, say hi. They’ll probably say hi, after a long pause. Then you’ll say, “How are you?” and they’ll say “…Fine. Is everything okay?” And you say, “Yes, why?” And they’ll answer, “You haven’t spoken to me in like, eight years.” And you can say, “This internet blog told me to call a friend.” And they’ll say, “What?” And you can tell them, “Yes,” And they won’t be able to hear that, so you’ll have to repeat it for them. You’ll have to say, “No NO. It’s A-P-O-C! CCCC-A-L-Y-P-S-T-I-C-K! K! LIKE APOCALYPSE, BUT WITHOUT THE E. TAKE THE E OFF. ADD ‘TICK’ TO THE S. IT’S REALLY NOT THAT HARD, CHRIST.” And they’ll say, “What is your problem?” And you’ll get frustrated and say, “THIS IS WHY WE NEVER TALK.” Then a few months from this you’ll get a text from your friend Cristy or something that says, “PARTY 2NITE!” and you go to the Party 2Nite, and guess who’s there? It’s your friend you tried to call and reconnect with. You’re going to pretend like you don’t see each other for the first hour of the party but then you’ll both me a little loosened up and you’ll hear Radiohead’s “High And Dry” play in the background and you’ll reminisce about that crazy middle school/high school/college trip and together you’ll join into the chorus, “DON’T LEAVE ME DRRRRRYYYYY-EEEYYYEEE” and you don’t even like Radiohead. And you’ll say it was good to see each other.

So do that and tell me how it goes.


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The Time I Blew It With That Actor.

I’m in a fashion shoot!! Whaaaaat??!! Check out the latest issue of Genlux!

Recently I got the chance to meet That Actor from this popular cable TV show. And I completely blew it.

Here’s how: vodka gimlet + two Moscow mules + approximately three shots of vodka + talking to That Actor = my own personal Titanic.

I watched his show occasionally but I mostly remembered him from this wonderful little indie movie he did when I was in college. I thought it would be a great idea to talk to him, never mind the fact that I was drunker than Ulysses S. Grant when he won the Civil War.

Neither of us knew who the guy was who the guy was who introduced us. Basically I grabbed this guy who was flirting with me and said, “INTRODUCE ME TO [THAT ACTOR] OVER THERE.” And he did, but for all I know he could have said, “Hi, I’m with the FBI, this crazy girl wants to kill you, I’m just going to need you to pretend to engage her so we can stand by ready with our guns.”

What did we talk about? I have no idea. I can barely remember. I know that I talked about Arby’s. Why? I have no fucking idea. I’ve never been to Arby’s. Maybe I have a secret deep passion for Arby’s and I’m hoping that one day I tell this to the right person who exclaims, “ME TOO!” and all will be well. Who the fuck knows.

I remember he told me that he liked my necklace. I said, “I think it would look good with your outfit,” and promptly pulled it off of my head. I then went to put it around his head and said, I swear to god, “I think your head is too big for this.” I told him I wanted to burn down the decorative swimming pool in front of us. I may have made a “That’s what she said” joke. I said, a few times, “Wait, can we start over? I’m Almie” and shook his hand (on the bright side, he sure didn’t forget my name by the end of the night….if that’s a bright side.) I told him, I’m not crazy. (Which is really great, that’s how you really convince people you’re not crazy, you know, by putting that idea into their heads in the first place. That’s like if a cute little ten-year-old-girl came up to you and said, “I’m not evil.” You would think, “Holy shit, this girl is evil.”) He said I didn’t need to say that. Then, to officially claim my place as the biggest loser of all time, I told him my story about how my friend interviewed him in college and how that should have been me and how he owes me an interview. He asked what for. I said, “My blog!” and gave him my card. He asked what my blog was about. I think I said, “Dating, living in LA, and feeling awkward kind of like this.” I joked about my card, saying that the “actress” description under my name was “theoretical.” He was a complete gentleman this entire time. I don’t know why he didn’t immediately get up and say, “Excuse me…I have to go stand over there…now” and leave. Maybe he thought I was entertaining in an R2-D2 kind of way. Like, oh look at it beeping! Look at its lights! Look at it spinning! Neat!

At one point someone tore him away for a press photo and he told me it was his boss and he would be back. My friend swooped in, said we had to go because she was tired, and I said OK and then teetered off to the bathroom. When I came back, the glaring brightness of the bathroom lights clashed with the darkness of the club and I couldn’t see a fucking thing. I put on my glasses. I think black glasses work really well with a little black dress and vintage necklace, and fuck whoever disagrees, I’m awesome. I wanted to say goodbye to That Actor, and at least I knew this time I could see him, and who knows when I would see him again.

I found him and said goodbye. He told me he didn’t recognize me with my glasses on. I think I may have shouted, “YEAH, GLASSES!” and high-fived him, but I can’t be sure. However I’m pretty sure that once again, for the love of God, I talked about Arby’s. He told me to get in touch with his people regarding the interview and I said something like, “Pssshh, you have my card, you get in touch with me.”

First impressions are everything. When guys meet me, in any situation, they either think I’m a manic pixie dreamgirl, like Annie Hall meets Ellen Paige meets every girl who works at a vintage store in Brooklyn, or they think I’m the manic crazy sullen girl who stands outside of 7-11s shouting at some guy named Brian or Jimmy. I can’t control that. But I think everyone needs to know that I am never that drunk. Earlier in the night I was absolutely charming. We all go a little mad sometimes. Actually, quoting a line from “Psycho” is probably not my best defense. Putting this on the internet may not be my best defense. But I think it’s a pretty great story about how really all we need to be is ourselves. We don’t need to get drunk. We are good the way we are. We have nothing to prove.

Though I have to say I’ve been dating This Guy right now who finds my drunken shenanigans “hilarious/adorable” so maybe it’s all about finding the person who not only accepts your awkwardness, but gives it a high-five.

Now please tell me your personal tales of drunken destruction.

If You Want It — TV Girl


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Old Years.

A lot of people hate New Year’s Eve. They say that it never lives up to the hype and that it always sucks. If it sucks, it’s basically because you’re setting it up to suck. All you have to do on NYE is have fun. That’s it. You don’t need to complain about crowds, traffic, or how it’s always a let down. Just put on your party dress and have fun. Even if all you’re doing is sitting at home having your own BH 90210 marathon, the same rules apply: just have fun. “Oh who cares, it’s just another night” you say. SO WHO CARES, JUST MAKE IT FUN. P.S. Fun.

Remember Y2K? Did you and your brother also run to the computer after midnight to make sure it was still working/hadn’t blown up/was not haunted? I remember my family threw a party and my mom bought pink tiaras boldly proclaiming “2000!” for me and my friend Michelle. My outfit was regrettable. I had braces. But so did everyone. And most importantly, the computer clock flipped from 12/31/99 to 1/1/00 and no one died.

When I was younger it was a big deal to do something on New Year’s. My mom and dad would sometimes go out and I was allowed to invite a friend to sleep over. But evidently NYE was a big thing for other peoples’ parents because my friends could never come over. But one year my friend Jessica did. We stayed up late, watched the Big Gay Al episode of South Park (that was a big deal, I was “too young” to watch South Park) and then we decided to call a psychic hotline to get some great tips about the upcoming year. We wound up spending $99.oo, which to me at the time seemed like an astronomical amount of money. My mom supported this theory by placing the bill on my desk with the amount circled and an angry “ALMIE!!!!!” scrawled next to it for emphasis.

The year I had my first “serious” boyfriend he flew in to spend New Year’s with me. My friend had a 1920s themed party so he wore a vest and a tie. My friend said he looked like the valet. It was still better than the party I went to of my first “boyfriend”‘s (different from the other quoted boyfriend) who saw me and basically had the attitude of, “You taste like a burger I don’t like you anymore.” We’re friends now though.

Part of the problem with the inevitable NYE letdown is that somehow this holiday turned into the Adult Swim of holidays. Someone convinced us that if you don’t show up to a party with a date and you don’t kiss at 2 seconds to midnight and you don’t spend the rest of the evening making passionate slow motion love to George Michael’s Careless Whisper then you have failed at having a good year. It’s not true. You don’t need a date on New Year’s Eve. Seriously. I give you permission to spend the night with your friends or by yourself or with your cat as long as you feel good about it! Don’t set yourself up for sad times. Set yourself up for fun times. It’s easier. All you have to do is be open.

So come on, you can tell me: what are you doing for NYE?

Never Forget You — The Noisettes


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How To Avoid Getting Too Drunk.

@TallulahFlyte on Twitter suggested that I do a post on how to avoid getting too drunk at holiday parties. Since I apparently know a lot about getting drunk and drinking, I am more than happy to offer my advice. See, I’m a writer, so it’s totally cool if I drink during the day. Perhaps I haven’t earned the right to drink like I’ve written the great American novel, but let me tell you something, apparently Jonathan Franzen has and the dude is duller than child scissors. I like my writers opinionated, classy, and yet hilariously drunk. The actual writing is incidental.

It’s the season of holiday parties, and you should have fun, responsibly. It’s tempting, especially in an awkward social situation (like a work party or a party where that dude shows up you dated a while ago but then stopped dating because he loved Journey a little too much) where you think, “Boy do I need a cocktail!” No one would think twice if you said this in the 60s, but now in these hyper sensitive times of awareness and education and Cee Lo Green, everyone is really quick to ask you if you have a problem. You go up to a bartender and ask for vodka on the rocks and he stares at you and says, “Really?” and I have to say, “I’m German and Italian, I can handle it.” Then you go to another bar and ask for an Old Fashioned because that’s what Don Draper drinks and the bartender says it’s a “girly drink” before serving you up the worst goddamn Old Fashioned you’ve ever had, something that tastes like Hawaiian Punch.

Anyway. As soon as you get to the party, get a drink. Then get some food. Then stretch that drink over the course of several hours. Then eat more food. Eat something with heavy cheese or meat. Preferably both. If you’re going to have one drink, make sure that you know you can handle it and that you’re planning on staying there for a while. Last night I drank Brandy and earned the nickname Angela Lansbury and then ate a frozen hash brown, and so what? It’s called being responsible. Also if you’ve been sick for a few days but you think you’re well enough to sing karaoke, you are wrong. Now you’re back in bed watching seven episodes of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and you realize that you’ve seen these episodes before and you don’t even care.

We all know that drinking makes people more attractive, unless these people are Mel Gibson. If you are around Mel Gibson and he is around alcohol, you should just save everybody time and call the police. By the time you hang up the phone he’s going to be cursing Jews and stomping on houseplants like he’s King Kong all the while panting and screaming. Do you want to be the Mel Gibson at someone’s Christmas party? Sure, it sounds funny now, but someone is going to record that shit on their phone and people will be appalled. You could also wind up at the bottom of a swimming pool because the backyard is poorly lit and you didn’t realize that you were about to walk into water. So. If you see a cute guy, stop and think, is he cute, or is he cute because I’m drunk? A good way to test this is to think about who would play him in a movie. Think of the actor before you start drinking, and then think about if it’s the same actor once you’ve started. If you’ve gone from say, Ernest Borgnine to Adrien Brody, then you are drunk and should stop.

But the real question is, how do you keep yourself from drinking too much when there’s so many delicious free drinks hanging out and everyone is merry and you’re all learning the true meaning of Christmas? Picture a cop walking in on you and observing your behavior. Does the idea freak you out? Then stick to one. Now picture your parents. Do they look disappointed? Stick to one. Do you vomit easily? Stick to one. Because the thing is, this shit is all going to wear off. That’s the important thing to remember. What’s fun now might be horrifying the next day. It’s all about keeping perspective. Just because it’s Christmas and/or New Year’s doesn’t mean that you have to drink everything in sight. The party does stop, Ke$ha. It stops.

Fame In The Club (DJ Milenko Mashup) — 50 Cent Vs David Bowie


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How To Tell If You’re Drunk.

In this fast-paced word of venti lattes and iphones and google and facebook and Cee Lo Green it’s easy to get overwhelmed and sometimes we have to ask ourselves, “Wait, am I drunk?” Here’s a handy guide for when you’re just not sure:

— You have an overwhelming urge to text everyone you know.

— If someone walks in on you peeing in the bathroom you just smile, wave, and say, “HELLO! WELCOME TO MY TOILET ROOM!”

— You freak out if the bartender takes a smoking break.

— You ask people to guess how old you are.

— You can go hours with a reduced vocabulary of “YEEEEAAHHH!”, “WHOOOOOO!” and loud high-fives.

— It suddenly seems like the perfect time to talk about your screenplay.

— You have a spirited conversation with five people about Goldeneye for N64. (“Facility is the best level!!!!!”)

— Tears for Fears actually inspires tears and fears.

— You find yourself thinking, “Holy shit I would love to hear some Billy Joel right now.”

— Cheese fries.

— “Hey, seriously though, why isn’t that guy talking to me? I mean I don’t care I just want to know. Really, what the fuck is his problem? Where did he go? Why isn’t he talking to me? No, fuck him! Fuck him! I’m awesome! I’m the best person here! I have the best hair!”

— Everyone looks like someone famous. But the famous people look ugly.

— You look at your boyfriend and think, “There is no way I am marrying this man if he doesn’t want to have a bouncy castle at the reception.”

— Then you tell him.

— Then you act like you were joking.

— Then he can tell that you weren’t joking and you start crying.

— 6 minute remixes of Katy Perry songs are awesome.

— You lost your lip gloss and you’re not even mad.

— You say, “I’m not drunk, I swear.”

Basically if you’re not sure if you’re drunk, you’re probably drunk.

Fuck You (Chiddy Bang Remix) — Cee Lo Green


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