One of your good friends, Jennifer, is having people over, so you put on a new sweater, pick up a bottle of wine, spend the entire subway ride regretting wearing the new sweater instead of one of your "go to" shirts, and walk to her apartment. Some faint music is playing from a television (?) and there are seven bottles of red wine but no white and all the women are wearing scarves (though each in a different manner). You say hello to Jennifer, who is seemingly already wasted, and proceed to meet a bunch of the periphery characters in your conception of her life: her new boyfriend's roommate, her former coworker who she always talks about, etc. Usually there's one of these bit players whom you end up talking to for a weirdly long amount of time, typically someone who isn't even all that close to Jennifer (it'll be, like, the boyfriend of one of her on-the-outs college friends).
A few days later, you meet up with Jennifer for dinner and, before
you've even opened your menus, you say something like "so Saturday night
was so fun...," and you're off! You work through each person at the
party systematically. You'll deliver a vague initial assessment of each
person you met, in turn: "I liked the roommate with the hat!" (you don't
want to take too strong a stance before you know what Jennifer's
take on the given individual is). Jennifer will proceed to break down this
person's entire existence in 30 seconds ("Well, the story with him is
that three years ago he..."). After this summary, you'll circle back
and either reaffirm or scale back your original claim ("You know, he did seem a little creepy...") And then you move on to the next person ("Wait, so who was the girl with the curly hair...?")
There's something strangely electric about the whole back-and-forth.
It's like a car-ride-home-from-a-movie conversation but intimate and
dishy and devoid of arguments related to Hugh Jackman's singing voice.
As you and Jennifer wait for a picture of her boyfriend's sister to load
on her phone's Facebook app, you feel like a confidant, like
this is somehow the adult version of the late night bunk bed
conversations and post-homework hour-long phone calls of your teenage