• by Kelly Samardak , June 2, 2008

PART TWO: COREMedia's 16th Anniversary party, Marquee, New York
May 29, 2008

Monday Monday, can't trust that day. I never got that little lyrical blurb. I mean, a day can't really do anything to you. I guess unless you're the mamas and the papas and maybe you've licked a sheet of turtle-logo'd acid. Then maybe, maybe (to you) a day can actually not be trusted.

Today, though, you wily women and spastic men who attended COREMedia's 16th Anniversary/Keep a Child Alive benefit last Thursday night should be a little nervous Monday is packing. Because... you people were NUTS.

Last Friday the gentler, cotton-ball cute edition fluttered into your inbox. Today, all the grinding, spilling, close-talking, group photo-opping, and pointy-finger dancing you can handle is in this pupu platter of party people (which you can find in lifelike glory on Flickr! )

My expectations were set at "this is the Marquee." I've heard of it, I've seen hungry girls galloping towards it, but I've never been inside. I think that questionably reputed half-naked chick from Danity Kane has been spotted making out with random ex-porn stars, and Lindsay Lohan has swooped in and out of this infamous NYC hotspot on various sober occasions, I'm sure (I mean, she was always under 21, so she can't drink. Riiiiiight).

I combined that useless knowledge with the fact that the party started at 6 p.m., which led me to believe it would be a more relaxed dress code for those heading over straight from work.

"I'm having a crisis," hmphed Gretel Going, a member of my entourage. "I brought a dress, but I forgot shoes -- I need to know if jeans are OK, because I have shoes for jeans, but not for a dress!"

I hadn't thought that jeans wouldn't be allowed, but then again, I'm not a frequenter of Marquee -- it's just not my scene. And by "my scene" I mean a 20-buck cover and slimy weirdos trying to rub my butt. But mostly the 20-buck thing, because really, what's a little butt rub when pints are a dollar? I digress. Turned out jeans were OK, but let's talk about the whole dress-code thing for an online minute (harrrrrrr). The rationale behind it is that if people are all sparkled up and shiny-shoed out, they'll behave.

If that's the case, explain the satin dress dance sandwiches, the getting' low booty-grinding, and the "we're in a dark corner so no one can see us" jig. PS. I saw you. None of this is offensive, but you'd get that with Target jeans or a Dior frock.

As I stood on my table blinding everyone with my flash, my face cramped from cackling. EVERYONE danced. Every target market (MTV, YouTube, and rotary phone generations) jumped, wiggled, pointed, and pranced.

A tattooed arm flew in front of my camera and I ducked, coming face to face with a drink-covered frat boy type. I bobbed and weaved, narrowly avoiding the fat tumbler of vodka rocks and almost head-butted someone at least 20 years my senior doing "the butterfly." I think I even saw Carl Langrock, president and COO of COREDIRECT, trying to "crank that superman."

Why don't we let the pictures speak for themselves? I heard they're worth a thousand words.

Hey! You might want to adjust your spam filters for tomorrow's Minute, because tonight I will be in the company of semi-nude dancers for the RADAR magazine and House of Campari party.

I know, pretty hardcore.

Want Kelly to capture your thrills and spills (and subsequent laundry bills)? Send your invitations to kelly@mediapost.com

Get your photo fill with the entire set on Flickr!