Sometimes we get an email so long and detailed that it fulfills our Glaring Omissions quota—in which we reproduce that which is accidentally or purposely overlooked in our inbox—for the entire week. This is that email.
- So I checked my facebook account this morning and I have this new note from an NYU student detailing her wild night with Cuba Gooding Jr. (who is married with 3 kids btw) But apparently, not even an NYU
student would sink so low as to sleep with Cuba. I am copy-pasting her extensively detailed version of the event. She titled this note "The Night I Did Not Sleep with Cuba Gooding Jr." Try not to claw your eyes
so after having what i'm 99% sure has been the most bizarre night of my life, hinna suggested i make some diary entry about it for posterity ("yo, you should put that shit in a blog and send it to me!"), so here it is.
the night started with a concert in central park. sam and i got tickets to see fiona apple and nickel creek. i had thought we could take the A train to 72nd street, but apparently after 59th the A goes crazy and goes straight to 125th st. as we began to panic (neither of us can do silly basketball tricks, we'll never fit in!!" one of the people no doubt leading the gentrifying charge basically told us to shut up and take the C back downtown.
once we get to the concert, we realize nickel creek is a tawngy bluegrass band. they were really great, and it was an amazing show, but our first thought was that we stumbled upon a hoedown.
after the first set, we decided that we definitely needed some alcohol, so sam went to get us drinks while i fiercely guarded the spots we shoved so many people aside to get. to my delight, an loud argument starts happening right in front of me. some really intense fiona apple/nickel creek fans were pissed at some other girl on her cell phone. these two girls are going back and forth arguing on and on, with the cell phone chick calling the other one "a stupid fat bitch" (undoubtedly she can't sing either), and "a fat cow". that doesn't seem to get the girl really upset, so the cell phone girl is fed up and THROWS HER BEER IN THE OTHER GIRL'S FACE. now these two ladies are pulling hair, slapping, scratching, wrestling —> a legit
i was in heaven, despite being soaked with cheap beer. security didn't come forever and some random guy ended up holding the cell phone girl while the other girl's friends held her back. the cell phone girl
prompty called the guy holding her "a stupid old fag", but before she could toss out any more gems like that security came and took her away.
thinking that was the highlight of my night, i was ready to go home, eat some cheerios, and play nintendo wii. but sam is apparently well connected, and we got into this fancy private party at pink elephant,
which was super super swank. while i was stuck looking like a schlub, sam packed a fancy party dress in her purse, and sweet talked her way into the doorman's bathroom in this fancy luxury high rise apartment building where she changed and instructed me to put on lipgloss.
i hadn't had dinner that night, and i was DELIGHTED that there weredelicious finger foods being passed out. we spent most of the night scoping the room, and trying to put ourselves in the path of the free
drink and free food servers. i saw that guy who was the crazy plastic surgeon in nip/tuck schmoozing, and i was legit star struck.
so the whole time we were at the party, we were scoping the room for people who were dressed worse than me. since i didn't know i was going to the party, i was still wearing my plain jane cotton sundress, and my DIRTY REEF FLIP FLOPS. when you're at a party where there's a table reserved for harvey weinstein you feel a little self conscious about how you're dressed. standing across from me, i see this guy in camo
shorts, flip flops, t-shirt, and a bucket hat. sam and i do a double take, and realize that it's fucking CUBA GOODING JUNIOR!
sam, being the ballsy person she is, goes right over and introduces herself. now let me tell you this, cuba gooding jr is a 100% gentleman. he introduced himself to both of us, and then prompty bought us champagne/vodka cocktails. now that we're in cuba's entourage for the night, we get invited over to the VIP section where the OWNER of pink elephant (the club) and his wife are (she was super nice), these reps from liquor brand (who sponsored the party), and this fancy fashion designer and his boyfriend. i asked the designer where his clothes were, and he sassily replied "saks and bergdorfs", so we were not great friends after that.
now the music at the club was awesome. cuba and i bonded over our love for justin timberlake, and he's dancing all up on me. legit, cuba's crouch is up against me and he is grinding like it's nobody's business.
for anyone that even somewhat knows me, you know i'm the worst dancer ever, so i was having a serious panic attack about what cuba would think of my dancing skills. but he didn't seem too concerned and just
kept coming up to me every time a new song came on.
it's getting late for a tuesday, and the club starts emptying out. cuba's manager keeps coming up and asking sam and me what we're doing afterwards, and we keep giggling like idiots and saying "i don't
knoooow, we'll see!!". at this point i remember that sam had told me she'd eaten nothing more than a banana and half a salad all day, and it's almost midnight. the drunker she gets, the more and more
personable she becomes! that girl put so many business cards in her bra, i can not believe it. she was even asking the fashion designer to check out her boobs and say if he thought they looked lumpy with all
the stuff in her bra (he assured her she looked fine).
meanwhile, i've been texting jen all night, and i'm trying DESPERATELY to tell her what's going on. i'm trying to be super slick and not let cuba see how star struck i am, but i'm drunk and i'm bad at it. all
night i'm texting jen "WHATEVER YOU DO ANSWER YOUR PHONE WHEN I CALL YOU!!!", and she's freaking out. she keeps asking me if i'm ok and what's going on, and when i try to explain, all i can quickly send out is "cuba". so i leave jen with that thought and continue my night of partying with cgj.
all of a sudden i notice sam is coughing a lot. a lot. like if we were in a movie i'd start checking her handkerchief for spots of blood and weep when i discover that she has consumption. but it's not a movie,
and i think the girl is just drunk. sure enough, sam grabs me and tells me we have to leave ASAP. so i start making our goodbyes, and the owner of pink elephant puts his arm me and goes "you do know who
you guys are hanging out with, right?", and i make some lame excuse to get away. i go to cuba and tell him sam isn't feeling well (i know, i sold her out to look cool to cuba), and as we're talking he's running
his hands up my legs, pinching my thigh, etc. he asks me what i'm doing "later on", and then goes "i just want to hook up" (exactly what he said i swear on my life).
now, lord knows why, but i'm just not in the mood to have sex with an oscar winner that night (well at least THAT oscar winner, helen mirren - you know my number) so i tell him how i have to help my roommate move the next morning. sam goes and makes her goodbyes, and makes a giant liar out of me by spending a good five minutes cuddling with cuba, not looking one bit sick.
so we peace out of there, and jump in a cab. of course sam has to pee URGENTLY, so we split a cab home. the whole ride home she's asking me why we didn't stay, and why we didn't get cuba gooding jr's phone
number. i explained to her many times that he doesn't give out his number to random girls in nightclubs, but she was very disappointed.
of course in the cab we both called anyone we thought would still be awake. when i talked to hinna, her first comment was "yo, isn't that guy married? dude, that's low." so i do some wikipedia-ing, and sure
enough, cuba is married with 3 kids. for shame cuba!
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