Weekend 3

Weekend 3:

Friday night- After the previous night spent at a show in Brooklyn, not drinking and terrified I would run into cute guy from the weekend before I decided that tonight I was staying in. Like that happened. After signing onto Facebook I impulsively decided to chat with a guy I knew from high school, who I knew was living in New York. I knew this guy through my best friend at the time. He had invitimed to their prom junior year and after saying yes decided I couldn't go through with it and canceled. Not at the last minute or anything, but still a bitch move, I'll admit it. I got it back the next year when my date canceled on me. So needless to say we hadn't spoken in quite some time, though we had resolved the prom drama. He of course convinced me to go out. I'm sure it was tough for him. Hopped on the sub and headed to Tribeca to meet him. After a drink at his apartment, where I was slightly nervous he had lured me up there to harm me, we headed to the East Village to meet his friends. Nice guys, though not really my style. But hey I liked chatting with them more than prom friend, whose loud stories about himself (mostly involving his job...eluding to his considerable paycheck) were starting to aggravate me. Maybe the prom decision wasn't such a bad one after all. I decided to concentrate on my conversation with the nice, pseudo-guido. A few minutes later Prom, pulls me aside and tells me a clearly embellished story of the pseudo-guido hitting on him. I had my doubts. After awhile everyone decides that we should get the famous french fries on St. Marks that one of the girls had been talking up. I whole-heartedly agreed. We then walked forever and stood outside in the cold. I debated leaving but we were so close. My reward was mediocre french fries with creative sauces. It worked out for the best as everyone gave me their left-overs. I ate french fries all that week. Eventually everyone leaves and it is Prom, pseudo-guido and me. I ask them to accompany me to the subway. After wandering around lost, flanked by two men, we finally find it and I rush down the stairs. Prom is behind me. “So dinner sometime?” he asks. “Uh yea, ok” is my half-hearted response. I feel bad even as I'm saying it. I swipe my card, turn and wave and board the train, with my huge bag of fries for company.

Saturday night- It may come as a surprise to some of you that after the disastorous brunch the weekend before ibanker still came back for more. Yes while in the shower that evening, text received with invite to his friend's warehouse party. Done. After debating on what to wear, I chose a new black shirt, which I figure is a safe bet. Truck to Union Square and meet ibanker, who is looking especially tool-ish. I'm pleased to see him. We walk over to meet his roommate, who resembles a drunk, delirous child. On the way I spot a girl in a tank top and shorts shivering. I laugh and point, flabergasted that she could even think about not wearing a coat in this weather. A cab is hailed and who should climb in next to me, but the girl in question. Of course, she would be with the roommate. Relief takes over when ibanker hands me the mystery out of the paper bag he has been carrying—a 4loko. YES, and grape-flavored which I had never tried. The four of us shared and caught up on how Roommate and girl (Tressa?) had met that day...still unclear on that one. The party we were headed to turned out to be a rave-themed party at a warehouse in Midtown (yes Midtown). Tressa gave me a couple of the light-up bracelets she was wearing. It brought me back to 4^th grade and the skate and place and I liked it. We enter the party and I immediately cringe---yes the party is rave-themed but it is also white t-shirt themed. My black shirt=huge failure. After a beer from the keg (when had I last seen a keg??) ibanker decides that he will take me to Duane Reede to find me a t-shirt. We walk towards Times Square eventually finding one. While making our selection the cashier announces they are clsoing shortly. I run up to the register waving my pack of large, men's white undershirts. I'm going to look so good. On the way back I decide that I'm going to pee my pants. We turn to go into a foodplace and simultaneously agree it is unacceptable. We find a tucked away hotel and ibanker schmoozes them into letting me use the bathroom downstairs. I relieve myself, change and help myself to some apple juice from the buffet while ibanker pees. We eventually make it back to the party, in time for the neon paint to be used up. No matter, plenty of alcohol. We drink, chatting with his other ibanker friends and I feel too self-conscious to dance even though the house is blaring. At the end of the night we head to the shitshow of a room where everyone had deposited their coats. I was nervous about this situation from the beginning. We rummage and rummage and rummage. Ibanker's coat is located, as is other ibanker friend's. Mine however is MIA. I feel the magnitude of the situation beginning to work its way into my drunken reasoning skills. “If we don't find my coat in 5 minutes I'm going to cry. Someone stole it” I say to ibanker as I force tears to my eyes. He looks at me with a mixture of concern, shock and disdain. I rummage harder. I am throwing coats at this point. It hits a girl in the face and she yells at me. No time for her, need to find coat. I enlist the help of the other girl next to me. Eventually someone lifts out a black, wool coat with a green Benneton tag. I throw my arms around helper-girl. Success! We turn around to leave. Half-way out we realize we forgot the bag with the t-shirts and my scarf. The search resumes, except this time I perch on the edge of a couch in a state of hopeless despair. Somehow my scarf is found, but the bag of shirts is not. An expected casualty. In the cab on the way back to Union Square, with my head on ibanker's lap, I murmur that I'm so grateful we found my coat, I just don't know what I would've done without it....before drifting off.