Weekend 2

Friday night- The most ridiculous night of all, even at this point. Not one I'm proud of, but one that certainly needs to be documented (in the same vein as things like a political scandal or the Holocaust, in the hopes that the same mistakes won't be repeated). Roommate perhaps decided he wanted to keep an eye on me this time and invited me out to see a band at Brooklyn Bowl. After much deliberation I agreed, as the ibanker wasn't exactly responded enthusiastically to my texts to hang out. So back to Williamsburg I went. We arrived, watched the band who were surprisingly entertaining and had a few drinks. I met roomie's friends and made half-hearted conversation. At one point I wandered away to pee and close my tab. I was not happy with the ibanker's behavior and was trying to reach MM to liven up my night. I stood at the bar not getting served, when I noticed two fellows standing a little too closely behind me. I turned around and in less than 5 seconds one was next to me. He said some sort of line, which I normally ignore, but this guy was pretty attractive. I decided I would accept. We made conversation, I took a jager shot with him and also accepted to the extra beer he “accidentally” ordered. By that point roomie had come to check on me and MM had responded with an invite to a house party. Indeed. Everyone invited, including cute guy's bro friends. It'll be funny. But first we decided to stop at a bar to have a drink, before heading to the pregame, before heading to the house party. I'll put it out there now that we never made it to the house party. A couple more beers and a shot of Jamison in, I was one of the guys, until cute guy and I started openly making out. That's when someone decided it was time for us to leave. I'll just take this beer with me. How, by putting it in my white purse of course. Surprise-this did not end successfully and before we had even left the bar one of my pant legs was soaked through. At this point we had lost a few in our party and it was cute guy, myself and roomie at where else but the Cove. More drinks were had, attempts were made to dance and there was more making out. Roomie disappeared to the bathroom and this is when I felt the room spinning. The music sucked and I wanted out. Cute guy made the executive decision to leave, bypassing my friend on the way out. We were in a cab, I was asleep in cab, and next thing I knew I was standing outside a door of a Murray Hill apartment building making the most horrific retching noise known to man. The door flies open, “bathroom that way!!”, he yells. No time. I head straight for....the kitchen sink and like the classy girl I am proceed to vomit all over his dishes. This apparently does not phase him as we somehow manage in both our states to hook up. Apparently the friend asleep on his couch in the next room does not phase me either. A story I will clearly share with my grandkids. But it gets better. In the morning I wake up, slightly confused, slightly appalled and decide that I won't let them win, this needs to be the most ridiculous situation ever. And it becomes so when I look at my phone and realize I had made plans the night before to get brunch at 11AM with ibanker. Time to start making noise. Cute guy wakes up, we laugh, he introduces me to his friend. “This is ____”. “No it's not”, I reply. Their eyes widen. “That's not my name, my name is Rachel”. They glance at each other. “Oh My God” they yell in unison. But right before they are about to lose it I tell them to chill the fuck out, yes my name really is ____. They laugh and I decide to keep this going. “We're going to have a baby!!” I yell. Then I continue with statements like “we have to think of names” and “hey friend, will you be the godfather?” He accepts. I run back and forth between the two of them screeching to smell my beer-soaked purse. They invite me to go with them to meet their friends for brunch. I drop the bomb that alas I cannot, I have already brunch plans. With who? Without much prodding—I fess up, with the guy I had a date with the week before. They proceed to die again. They want to know where we are going and they will be at the table next to us. I know better than to divulge this information, even when they ask if cute guy can sit at the table with ibanker and I can sit on his lap. On our simultaneous walk (theirs to brunch, mine to the subway to meet my date for brunch) they stress that they want updates dammit. “We want photo-documentation—here's ibanker and I at brunch, here's ibanker sniffing my purse”. My turn to die. We meet their friend on the corner. I walk up, “Hi I'm Rachel” and shake his hand. I turn, give cute guy a hug, and disappear into the subway. I have 10 minutes, obviously no time to go home, so I go, as is, to Union Square and meet poor ibanker for a meal I can barely eat. I enjoy myself nonetheless, even though my phone keeps beeping with texts from cute guy and co. Upon return to my apartment that afternoon Roomie is not pleased. I'm sorry, I don;t know what happened, of course I stayed with MM in Williamsburg, bla bla. I then slink off to my room to take a nap.

Saturday night- I awake from my nap. Still hung-over. No time for that. Need to shower and truck to GF's apartment in the East Village. We have friends in town—a girl from our study abroad in Paris and her friends—and we need to take them out. I somehow make myself look presentable and schlep there. I arrive at the apartment and with much effort drink the vodka tonic which is handed to me. Our destination—Greenhouse. A club to rival the old days. We arrive, wait freezing cold in the line for roughly 5 minutes, before we are asked if we would like to be VIP. Now this does not normally happen to me, because I am always convinced people are not serious or want our place in line and will ignore them. Luckily our friend knew better and accepted. Next thing I know we are being whisked inside and upstairs to a table surrounded by slick-looking men. I am pushed into the midst of them. One places a glass in my hand the other fills it to the brim with a vodka I don't recognize and a splash of cran. Chuckling to myself, I decided, that yes, I can deal with this. Our night is spent dancing, not paying for a thing and fending off the grabby Argentinian hosts. At one point when the liquor was drank, friend and I accepted the fact that we could pay for our own drinks now and headed to the bar. I ordered was served and nothing...the bartender disappears. I turn quizically to friend. “OUT” she orders. We turn and head back to our table and I still don't know if the drinks were meant to be free or if we successfully eluded payment. We all decide to leave and they want to head to Brooklyn, to Williamsburg. There is no way in hell I will be going back to Williamsburg, especially after the previous nights shenanigans, so I take the subway home and actually make it.