Every once in awhile I get sick of New York. I go through a few-day stage where I just hate the city and wonder why I ever moved here. It then passes after a good night out or a successful shopping trip. I hadn't had this happen since I had moved into Manhattan. I had been having fun going out and being in the midst of things. But now that I was two months in, this feeling was about to hit me and hit me hard. I had been going out way too much and was exhausted. It was also roughly 125 degrees in the City and I was sweating constantly. The 4th of July was the culmination of it. I made the mistake of going out the night before, with Atl and GF. We were set on having a big night, and those nights usually end up the worst. We headed to Ludlow Manor, but couldn't get up to the rooftop because of a private party. We had a couple drinks and then headed across the street to Hotel Chantelle. I hadn't been since the fateful night things ended with Ibanker and it had since turned into a total scene and was no longer that cool. We had another couple drinks but then quickly grew bored. We wandered around the Lower East Side, stopping for terrible 99 cent pizza. We then decided to go into the nearest bar, which turned out to be packed to the brim with hipsters. There was a jukebox in the corner and we all spent about 15 minutes choosing our songs before realizing that it was unplugged. We sat at the bar drinking PBRs and asked a nearby hipster to take our picture. He was actually friendly and he and his friend started chatting with us. Atl and GF went outside to smoke and I was left with the hipsters who rapid fired questions at me. I answered right on cue and at the end of it they told me that they did this to people all the time but I had been the best out of everyone. Winning.
After, since we didn't know what else to do, we let GF persuade us to go to a gay bar in the West Village. Mistake on our part. There was a huge line out front, so while he waited in it Atl and I headed to another bar around the corner to pee. It turns out that this was a Russian bar and it was karaoke night. There was a large Russian man with the microphone in hand, singing along to the Cyrillic letters streaming across the screen. I loved the whole thing and would've stayed to watch but needed to attend to GF. Once we made it through the line, we found out it was also karaoke night at the gay bar. And so did the rest of New York City, since the bar was ridiculously crowded with sweaty dudes. We squeezed ourselves into a corner and signed up to sing Real McCoy's Another Night, but the wait time was over an hour and Atl and I had had enough. We dipped out leaving GF to chat with the new friend he had made in line.
The next day I was extremely hungover, which is a complete waste if the night before wasn't very good. So I was already in a bad mood and it was once again 175 degrees outside. Our 4th of July plans weren't solidified, which also annoyed me. Eventually they were made--go to Boat Basin with GA, her boyfriend and her boyfriend's friend who allegedly had a table. So I squeezed into my jeggings, which were the only bottoms that matched the patriotically-striped shirt I wanted to wear. MISTAKE. As soon as I stepped outside they were soaked through with sweat and also extremely tight, since I was starting to gain weight from all the drinking. We trucked up to Boat Basin, which was on the Upper West Side (aka not at all close to our apartment) which was packed with sweaty people and there was no free table to be found. We stood around miserably for awhile and drank and I descended into a terrible mood that I couldn't shake. All I wanted to do for the 4th of July was something suburban--sit in a backyard, eat bbq and drink water. I was sick of having to go to bars and drink whenever I wanted to do something social. I wanted air conditioning and a big comfortable apartment, with cable tv. This is not part of my life in NYC and I was getting sick of it. I needed a break big time. The rest of our day consisted of trucking to Meatpacking to meet up with Russian Rocher, when GF and I could no longer take Boat Basin. We grabbed burgers in an unairconditioned fast food place and finally decided to go to the Thompson Hotel, to the rooftop there. We actually snagged a table by some miracle and by then it had cooled to 115 degrees, so the temperature was much more pleasant. We sat and waited for the fireworks to start, even though none of us was very excited for them. Though we were all annoyed when, when they started, a pack of 8 feet tall Swedish tourists squeezed their way in front of us. MY country's celebration, not yours. After the show, we all just headed home, I think all relieved that the day was finally over.
I was also very relieved that I would be getting a break from New York for the next month or so. I was going to be out of town quite a bit, first for a weekend in the Cuse then work trips to Chicago and Boston, and finally my big vaca plans to San Francisco and Mexico City. In fact, I left a couple days later for the Cuse trip, to see Mouth, who was in town from Arizona, and also pregnant. I hadn't seen her since her wedding the previous summer and it was nice to hang out with her, though weird that we were now officially adults (her pregnancy solidifying this). I spent the weekend doing suburban things, like hang out in Mouth's backyard and driving around in an air conditioned car. I also disgusted my parents with the nasty cough I had developed from my party lifestyle in New York.
I was also in town for bleaker reasons. This was going to be my last trip staying in the house where I had grown up. My mother was leaving my father and moving to North Carolina, and the house had been sold. After this trip, I felt like I would no longer have a home nor a family. This all hit me when I was packing up my stuff to leave and walked out for the last time. I met my dad in the garage and immediately burst into tears. This continued on the drive to the bus station and I spent the bus ride listening to emo songs on my ipod, with tears sliding down my cheeks. A sampling from my playlist: Lykke Li- Possibility, Grizzly Bear- Slow Life, and finally, Iron & Wine- Such Great Heights. (These were also the songs I played on repeat for about two weeks after Ibanker). So needless to say, I was a goddamned mess and super out of it when I got off the bus in Port Authority. I debated taking a cab but I wanted to try and save money so I opted for the subway. As I walked up a bunch of people were walking out through the emergency exit. A guy held the door for me and I hesitated for a second and then decided to go through without swiping my card. I have never done this in New York and of course the one time, plainclothes police greeted me on the other side. I stood there miserably while they checked to see if I had a warrant (do I look like I would have an effing warrant??). I also watched a mother and her child walk through and nothing was done. They wrote me a ticket, which I was expecting. What I didn't expect was the ridiculous amount--$125. I was pissed and on the verge of tears again, and when I walked down to my platform, I discovered my line wasn't even running that night. So I went up to take a cab which I should've just fucking done in the first place. I walked a couple blocks to find one and on the way tripped over a grate in the sidewalk and broke my sandal (my fave pair). I finally spotted one, and dove in, where I immediately burst into tears again. I sent an emergency text to Mairey who called me right back and talked me off the ledge.
I had just returned to New York and I was already ready to leave. Luckily, I would be getting my much-needed break soon.
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