Party Crashing 101

I don't know whether it's my proper Russian upbringing or lack of ballsiness, but I have never crashed a party in my life until now.
After the Gay Pride Parade ended, the excitement spilled onto the streets. Everyone was lingering around Meatpacking, house music blaring on high from every watering hall. Pride participants still dressed in their gorgeous attire getting sloshed right before the real parties begin. I met a friend of mine from Twilo days, he is an artist and a beauty queen.
Off we went towards Highline contemplating rolling around in the grass but it was closed. A party on the infamous 3rd floor of the Standard attracted our attention, everyone was on terrace smoking and looking stylish. Trying to get in through the front door was impossible because it was an invitation only, open bar event for gay elite of Manhattan. I would have given up right then and there, but my friend was determined to crash the party. Pretending that we were going to a party at one of the suites, we got off on the 5th floor since the 3rd floor elevator button was disabled. After making a few of wrong turns and going through a maze of stairs we found the right door and sneaked in. Strangely enough, it was an only party in the city where the DJ did not play a single Michael Jackson song. The dance floor was empty and everyone was on the terrace. The highlight of the evening was that I met Phillipe, who is a stunning blond queen in the picture with the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen and a glamour level I can hardly dream of. She had poise equally mixed with sweetness, a rare combination.
I was hoping to run into Steve Lewis, whose blog I am a huge fan of, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead Patrick McMullan surprised the hell out of me by saying he remembers me from a party I attended 7 years ago. The man has photographic memory.
My friend was tickled to be basking in luxury, I was bored. Drinks were tasty, music was awful and there were plenty of stuck up personalities. Sunday night the parties were outrageous, but as I had to work the next day I headed home right after fireworks. As I walked to a subway through crowded streets, I thought to myself that the best part of the evening was actually trying to find our way into the party, laughing in the stairway and getting lost.