Weekend 9- I had to put the craziness on hold for a weekend because my mama came to visit! Good meals, good shopping, you know the deal.
Weekend 10-
Thursday night: This happened to be St. Patrick's Day so of course I was ready to go out for that! My plans were up in the air--Cute Guy and I had discussed doing something but he had been elusive all week. Reason being, he had taken me out to dinner the Sunday before and I didn't go back with him to his place (the trains to Queens were running terribly and I wanted to go back while it was still a decent hour). So ever since then he had been a little pouty. Unpleasant surprise for me. But I think it's common sense that if you are just interested in just hooking up with someone you don't take them out to dinner and ask what their parents do. Idiot. So needless to say I didn't hear from him about St. Patty's. Luckily Ibanker came through--he said he had friends that were going to a bar in Times Square. That was a mistake--I got totally lost trying to find the place and had to walk 5 blocks, pushing my way through wasted 19 year olds in green. One kid, whose friends had cleary abandoned him, was rolling around on the sidewalk and when I ran past him I was fully expecting him to vomit on my feet.
So I show up to this place pissed off and painfully sober. I spot Ibanker in his suit, up on a balcony with a bunch of other guys in suits. I make my way up the stairs, which is what anyone with commen sense would assume is the way to get there. Wrong. Walk into a private party. I go to the next level. Same thing. WTF. I finally figure out that there is a staircase in the back of the bar and join the party. I am cleary the one who doesn't belong--everyone there is in suits, including the few girls. Everyone there works for a law firm or an investment bank. Everyone there is apparently at their college reunion since they seem to have all gone to the same school. And in I walk, unemployed and in leggings. Sometimes I wonder why the Ibanker keeps me around. Probably because Im so charming--I down two beers in about 30 seconds and proceed to make fun of his green tie. The night goes as you would expect--small talk, booze. We both decide at some point that we are hungry and leave to get food with another guy and his date. I volunteer Chipotle as an option which is accepted with enthusiasm. The three of them all discuss a case the one guy is working on (something to do with football...boring) while I tune out and concentrate on eating my entire burrito bowl, since I know I can't take it home. Fatal mistake. We head back to the bar afterwards and when I try to drink another beer I feel like I'm going to die. I convince Ibanker that it's time to leave. On the way home he decides that he hasn't had enough to drink and wants to stop by another bar. I grudingly agree. Luckily it was super nice--the place used to be a city commissioner's office back in the day so it had a giant fireplace with a giant safe. This complimented the giant drink ibanker ordered. We stayed and chatted for a bit then headed back. A relatively mild St. Patrick's Day. I think it is a holiday in which I have grown too old to celebrate.
Friday/Saturday night: Friday night was another night I stayed in. I had been extremely grumpy all week due to girl's issues and had had to work all afternoon. I was pissed off that Cute Guy wasn't texting and I had no other plans to speak of. I decided to cut my losses and was in bed by 11. Probs a good move.
This gave me some rest for the night to follow. Bingo Night. Yes that's correct. A current trend in NYC is a Bingo Party. They have one every couple of weeks in a different location, that they don't announce til the day of. It fronts as a theme party, for example tonight's theme was a country hoedown. But it really is a rowdy party where people get wasted, dance and play Bingo. I had been wanting to check it out for awhile, so CB and I decided (after much debate) to truck it to the art space in Brooklyn where it was being held. We were greeted by a roomfull of Hipsters. Surprise. We grabbed a marker and a $3 High Life (amazing!). Now this had the potential to be a really good time, and it actually was considering the mistakes we made--coming just the two of us and sober. We were able to change the sober part, lucky for us. Before we knew it the country music was dimmed and a saucy British man walked onto the stage, flanked by two tattooed girls in cowboy hats. The man proved to be very amusing. He kept yelling things in his British accent such as "This is a sick tune!" and "There are 7,000 people here!" (when there were barely 100). We played a couple rounds of Bingo, making fun of the stupid prizes and the people who won that they harassed on stage. We took a couple shots and were ready for round 3--the final round. I was determined to win. I told CB that I was going to hug the British man while also wrapping a leg around him if it happened. My sheet was slowly filling up with marks. I was close. Before I knew it I only had one number left to mark off. I waited and couldn't believe it when they shouted "90!". I shrieked as loud as I could. I threw everything in my hands on the ground. My coat, my half-full beer bottle which broke everywhere. I ran onto the stage, hopped up and basically molested the British man. "What is your name?" he screams into the microphone. I answer gleefully. "Where is your ticket??". I look down--no ticket. I had dropped it with my coat! I shrug. "GET OFF MY STAGE!", British man yells. No he can't mean it I think in horror. I'm pushed off the stage amidst the crowds' boos. CB is frantically scouring the ground for my ticket. I join her as do a couple other people from the crowd but we don't find it before some asshole wins the prize. My prize. A stupid giant speaker that I never would have kept, but it was the glory I wanted. CB admits that a minute after I threw everything in excitement she saw someone bend down and snatch something up from where I had been standing. She realized too late that it must have been my ticket. Some fucking hipster stole my winning ticket! I am pissed and pretty embarassed so we decide it is time to leave. But we will be back, to claim revenge. There will be other Bingos and you can believe we will be there, winning what is rightfully mine.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Weekend 8
Friday/Friday Night- One of my museum internships has little art-related field trips that they take us on every Friday. I had been fairly bored at most of them except for today's which turned out to be pretty cool. It was art fair week so we went to an independent one in the morning. It featured the sort of art you can imagine--giant spoon scultpures, things hanging from the ceiling, paintings where people who think they are really clever say "I could draw a giant black dot too". Lots of items on the floor, that I multiple times almost stepped on. I'm going to be honest I think the real reason people go to these things, and I fully support it, is for the people watching. It is ridiculous. And filled with Europeans which you know I love. The bigger more mainstream art fair, the Armory Show, we went to in the afternoon was even better for that. I was on the lookout for my crazy art history professor from Paris (the infamous Boicos) in case his gallery was showing there but alas they were not.
But the best part of the day was the little friend I made. A girl! In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been hanging out with too many girl since my arrival in NYC and it was a nice change. We had a lot in common--the same purse, our interest in Polish culture, and our mutual agreement that the other interns were all snobby assholes. It was a nice afternoon. I then went to work (of course) and afterwards went to watch a movie with Cute Guy, who had been blowing up my phone all week. Unexpected. Nothing too exciting there but we did discover that he lives within a mile range of about 25 molestors (not surprising in Murray Hill) and we also had a deep discussion about whether or not the mail people at his job are legally retarded. A good change of pace.
Saturday/Saturday night- In the morning the cute shit continued. We went to brunch and even did a little shopping before I had to go to work again. This is of course led me to start thinking things were a certain way, which is of course not true. Classic girl mistake. I guess I should have figured that if you are drunk enough to puke in a guy's sink the first night you meet him it's not going to lead to a meaningful romance. I worry for the fate of our baby. Cute Guy also updated me with his friend's weekend email. Apparently the night before his friends faked a fight between each other at the bar just so they could spill a beer on a guy they didn't like. I admire their technique.
Now part of the reason I had started this whole shenanigan up with the Cute Guy is because I had given up on ibanker. After our weekend together (see Epic 3 day weekend post), where he took me out, cooked me dinner, bla bla, I thought that things were going well with us. Then I didn't hear from him for almost 2 weeks. Until today. Of course he waits until I start up with someone else to sneak back in there. I had no intention of seeing him after work. But then my plans fell through and he was just a few blocks away. So I met him out in the West Village. He was with man-child roommate and his "girlfriend". They of course decided to head to one of their fav bars closer to their apartment. Ibanker was pretty wasted and laying it in thick with the compliments. Meanwhile I'm feeling guilty about him and about Cute Guy, while knowing that I reasonably don't need to feel guilty about either. We then go to a close by speakeasy, Raine's Law Room. We went earlier in the night and had to give the bouncer a phone number to call us back when a table opened up. That's how this shit works apparently. So we made it in and ordered our round of ridiculous $18 drinks made with gin and bitters and any other 1920's esque ingredient you can think of. Mine was delish as was the cheese plate I made them order. I would also like to point out, as a sidenote, that all three people I was with were wearing loafers with no socks, and Ibanker had on salmon pants. Just so you can picture this.
We stayed for quite a bit and I stayed suprisingly sober. But since Union Square was much much closer than Astoria at this point I did end up going back there. I was following my gut instinct that ibanker was drunk enough to pass out right away and right I was. Successfully eluded.
In the morning ibanker, manchild and I went to get brunch (aka pizza). It was huge and sat on one of those high metal plates. Manchild sliced while the boys discussed their upcoming sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands. "Question", ibanker states, "How much rum do you think I can drink without dying? I'm going to say...alot". Before another answer can be volunteered the metal plate flies off the tray, crashes to the ground and our pizza lands facedown on the floor. Manchild turns bright red and I almost pee my pants laughing.
After brunch I reject ibanker's invite to watch tv on the couch, since yet again I hadn't been home in over 48 hours. How am I a real person?
But the best part of the day was the little friend I made. A girl! In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been hanging out with too many girl since my arrival in NYC and it was a nice change. We had a lot in common--the same purse, our interest in Polish culture, and our mutual agreement that the other interns were all snobby assholes. It was a nice afternoon. I then went to work (of course) and afterwards went to watch a movie with Cute Guy, who had been blowing up my phone all week. Unexpected. Nothing too exciting there but we did discover that he lives within a mile range of about 25 molestors (not surprising in Murray Hill) and we also had a deep discussion about whether or not the mail people at his job are legally retarded. A good change of pace.
Saturday/Saturday night- In the morning the cute shit continued. We went to brunch and even did a little shopping before I had to go to work again. This is of course led me to start thinking things were a certain way, which is of course not true. Classic girl mistake. I guess I should have figured that if you are drunk enough to puke in a guy's sink the first night you meet him it's not going to lead to a meaningful romance. I worry for the fate of our baby. Cute Guy also updated me with his friend's weekend email. Apparently the night before his friends faked a fight between each other at the bar just so they could spill a beer on a guy they didn't like. I admire their technique.
Now part of the reason I had started this whole shenanigan up with the Cute Guy is because I had given up on ibanker. After our weekend together (see Epic 3 day weekend post), where he took me out, cooked me dinner, bla bla, I thought that things were going well with us. Then I didn't hear from him for almost 2 weeks. Until today. Of course he waits until I start up with someone else to sneak back in there. I had no intention of seeing him after work. But then my plans fell through and he was just a few blocks away. So I met him out in the West Village. He was with man-child roommate and his "girlfriend". They of course decided to head to one of their fav bars closer to their apartment. Ibanker was pretty wasted and laying it in thick with the compliments. Meanwhile I'm feeling guilty about him and about Cute Guy, while knowing that I reasonably don't need to feel guilty about either. We then go to a close by speakeasy, Raine's Law Room. We went earlier in the night and had to give the bouncer a phone number to call us back when a table opened up. That's how this shit works apparently. So we made it in and ordered our round of ridiculous $18 drinks made with gin and bitters and any other 1920's esque ingredient you can think of. Mine was delish as was the cheese plate I made them order. I would also like to point out, as a sidenote, that all three people I was with were wearing loafers with no socks, and Ibanker had on salmon pants. Just so you can picture this.
We stayed for quite a bit and I stayed suprisingly sober. But since Union Square was much much closer than Astoria at this point I did end up going back there. I was following my gut instinct that ibanker was drunk enough to pass out right away and right I was. Successfully eluded.
In the morning ibanker, manchild and I went to get brunch (aka pizza). It was huge and sat on one of those high metal plates. Manchild sliced while the boys discussed their upcoming sailing trip to the British Virgin Islands. "Question", ibanker states, "How much rum do you think I can drink without dying? I'm going to say...alot". Before another answer can be volunteered the metal plate flies off the tray, crashes to the ground and our pizza lands facedown on the floor. Manchild turns bright red and I almost pee my pants laughing.
After brunch I reject ibanker's invite to watch tv on the couch, since yet again I hadn't been home in over 48 hours. How am I a real person?
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Weekend 7
Friday/Friday Night- I decided that this was going to be a productive day. I went to bed early the night before so I could wake up early and get some errands done. I wanted to go to the grocery store and do my massive amount of laundry. But somehow with my terrible time-management skills, I realized halfway through my laundry that not only was I not going to have enough time to go to the store but I wasn't even going to be able to dry my clothes completely. Pissed off, I hauled my half-dry clothes back to my apartment and hung them all around my room like a hoarder. I hussled to get ready and made it out of the house with enough time to catch the train for work. Or so I thought. I arrive at the subway and the entrances are blocked off--no trains running. In Queens. At all. WHAAT?! I ran around hysterically trying to figure out what to do--did I need to take a bus, should I take cab? I called my boss and told her I was going to be late. She was not pleased after last weekend. As I stood on the corner where I guessed the bus picked up I heard a train pull up and saw people get on it. WTF. So I ran back over and now trains were magically running again, but with delays. I waited for awhile, finally got on a train and cursed my life the whole ride in. I made good time though and when I got to my stop realized I was only about 10 minutes late. I scooted up the stairs and was greeted with...a typhoon. The rain was pouring down as hard as I had ever seen it. Of course I had no umbrella. I had no choice--I ran. I had made it about 4 blocks when it started to rain so hard I couldn't even see in front of me. I hopped up on a window ledge to try and wait it out. I realized I must look like the drowned-rat-esque model in the window display of the Soho Diesel store. I cursed my life again. After 5 minutes the rain showed no signs of letting up and I continued my run. I arrived 20 minutes late, absolutely soaked and almost in tears. I think this is the only reason my boss was sympathetic.
I worked my shift and was not in the best mood. One of my co-workers picked up on this and said that all of us should go for drinks after work. I considered it until later in the shift it was just three people working and he had mentioned drinks to no one. It was just the two of us and he inquired if I was still interested in a drink. At this point I had the sneaking suspision he meant just for us. I cringed--this kid is obnoxious, a ginger, and has a gimpy arm. Seriously. I was embarassed, annoyed and feeling badly for him all at the same time. I said quickly that I was tired and tried not to go near him for the rest of the shift.
Luckily drinks were taking place later that night. At the Beer Garden in Astoria. Hipster was going to be there, as well as my friend CB, who is from home and lives in Astoria as well. I was on the N train and we had just gotten into Queens when I started to hear yelling. I looked in the window to see if I could tell what was going on in the reflection. A man with a weird headscarf yelling at another guy. Great. The yellling did not subside and at one point he started with "I don't care who is on this train!". I decided I could definitely squeeze under the seat if I needed to. At this point everyone is watching. We get to a stop and someone tries to push crazy man through the door. Then all hell breaks loose. He turns around and starts to punch someone. Pretty much everyone in my car gets up and books it out the door. Because of my morbid curiosity I considered staying put for a second but ended up running off as well. We waited around for the police in the next train car and when that insanity was finally resolved I was able to proceed with my night.
Went to the beer garden and was greeted by CB stumbling down the stairs with her own pitcher of beer. Apparently they had been giving out free pitchers (yes pitchers) earlier in the night and CB was on number 2. I helped myself to some and we found Hipster and his crew. We all stood around, CB and Hipster drunkenly yelling about our hometown, Hipster's arm around my waist, me trying to shift away. CB had also met two friends, both named Gary, who were socializing. I didn't stay very long as everyone had been drinking for hours and were ready to leave. On the way out Hipster tried very hard to convince me to go back to Brooklyn with him. Absolutely not. And may I point out that I haven't heard from him since.
Saturday night- I had bigger fish to fry. Cute guy was back in the picture. After my drunk texts to him he had sent me a facebook message earlier in the week inviting me out this weekend. I debated it for awhile--did I really want to do that again? It was clear it was just for one thing. And let me add right now that I am NOT sleeping with the ibanker, nor have I ever. Just so no one gets the wrong idea. So i went back and forth, decided I wasn't going to text him. I made other plans and these fell through. So with pushing from my roommate and my friend at home eventually decided to text him. He was out of course and invited me to meet him in Murray Hill. I chose a cute outfit, mixed a drink for my subway ride and went for it. He met me wandering around 28th street, lost. We went back to the bar, talking rapidly about our infamous night and when the baby was due. We decided that we were going to raise the shit out of it, to be an all-star partier. He had a group of friends at the bar. One recognized me, which I was afraid of. "I remember you--Rachel!!". Yes that's me, kind of. He quickly bought me a drink while cute guy took my coat. The night went surprisinly well--I was only moderately harassed for THE night. We drank and chatted. Towards the end of the night I decided to tell him about my French exboyfriend, and then didn't remember doing so when he asked me a question about him 5 minutes later. Tacky. We got pizza, where I loudly talked about a girl's ugly outfit. Back to his place, obv. In the morning he read me an excerpt of an email that apparently his group of friends send out every weekend morning (or morning after a night out). I was featured in it as the girl who didn't laugh at his friend's jokes. I was not aware jokes were being made. We went to brunch and had a normal conversation, where we didn't talk about our baby (but had decided that it would be very good looking). He planned my route to work for me, walked me to the subway, goodbye kiss and off I went to slave away at the coffee shop.
I worked my shift and was not in the best mood. One of my co-workers picked up on this and said that all of us should go for drinks after work. I considered it until later in the shift it was just three people working and he had mentioned drinks to no one. It was just the two of us and he inquired if I was still interested in a drink. At this point I had the sneaking suspision he meant just for us. I cringed--this kid is obnoxious, a ginger, and has a gimpy arm. Seriously. I was embarassed, annoyed and feeling badly for him all at the same time. I said quickly that I was tired and tried not to go near him for the rest of the shift.
Luckily drinks were taking place later that night. At the Beer Garden in Astoria. Hipster was going to be there, as well as my friend CB, who is from home and lives in Astoria as well. I was on the N train and we had just gotten into Queens when I started to hear yelling. I looked in the window to see if I could tell what was going on in the reflection. A man with a weird headscarf yelling at another guy. Great. The yellling did not subside and at one point he started with "I don't care who is on this train!". I decided I could definitely squeeze under the seat if I needed to. At this point everyone is watching. We get to a stop and someone tries to push crazy man through the door. Then all hell breaks loose. He turns around and starts to punch someone. Pretty much everyone in my car gets up and books it out the door. Because of my morbid curiosity I considered staying put for a second but ended up running off as well. We waited around for the police in the next train car and when that insanity was finally resolved I was able to proceed with my night.
Went to the beer garden and was greeted by CB stumbling down the stairs with her own pitcher of beer. Apparently they had been giving out free pitchers (yes pitchers) earlier in the night and CB was on number 2. I helped myself to some and we found Hipster and his crew. We all stood around, CB and Hipster drunkenly yelling about our hometown, Hipster's arm around my waist, me trying to shift away. CB had also met two friends, both named Gary, who were socializing. I didn't stay very long as everyone had been drinking for hours and were ready to leave. On the way out Hipster tried very hard to convince me to go back to Brooklyn with him. Absolutely not. And may I point out that I haven't heard from him since.
Saturday night- I had bigger fish to fry. Cute guy was back in the picture. After my drunk texts to him he had sent me a facebook message earlier in the week inviting me out this weekend. I debated it for awhile--did I really want to do that again? It was clear it was just for one thing. And let me add right now that I am NOT sleeping with the ibanker, nor have I ever. Just so no one gets the wrong idea. So i went back and forth, decided I wasn't going to text him. I made other plans and these fell through. So with pushing from my roommate and my friend at home eventually decided to text him. He was out of course and invited me to meet him in Murray Hill. I chose a cute outfit, mixed a drink for my subway ride and went for it. He met me wandering around 28th street, lost. We went back to the bar, talking rapidly about our infamous night and when the baby was due. We decided that we were going to raise the shit out of it, to be an all-star partier. He had a group of friends at the bar. One recognized me, which I was afraid of. "I remember you--Rachel!!". Yes that's me, kind of. He quickly bought me a drink while cute guy took my coat. The night went surprisinly well--I was only moderately harassed for THE night. We drank and chatted. Towards the end of the night I decided to tell him about my French exboyfriend, and then didn't remember doing so when he asked me a question about him 5 minutes later. Tacky. We got pizza, where I loudly talked about a girl's ugly outfit. Back to his place, obv. In the morning he read me an excerpt of an email that apparently his group of friends send out every weekend morning (or morning after a night out). I was featured in it as the girl who didn't laugh at his friend's jokes. I was not aware jokes were being made. We went to brunch and had a normal conversation, where we didn't talk about our baby (but had decided that it would be very good looking). He planned my route to work for me, walked me to the subway, goodbye kiss and off I went to slave away at the coffee shop.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Weekend 6- Night 3: the dinner
Sunday/Sunday Night: A little while after receiving the texts Hipster and I decided to get up and get some brunch. We walked over to a diner which is apparently the most famous in Brooklyn. We stood in line again for about 20 minutes waiting to get a table. Luckily his other roommate had lent me some knee-high wool socks (which I have since kept) so I wasn't quite as freezing as the night before. Half-way through brunch we determind that we could possibly still be drunk, especially when we both began laughing hysterically about my window antics earlier that morning. After brunch I decided to truck it home since I hadn't been since Friday evening, and was still wearing the same clothes. Sick. Once home I collapsed into my bed.
Once awake a few hours later I decided that it was a three-day weekend and why stop here. I decided to creep the ibanker. He offered a movie, which changed to dinner, which changed to dinner at his place then out. I found this out at the last minute so had to take a sidetrip to Ditmars on my way to the subway and ran into the first Greek bakery I found. I had no idea what to bring so I went with a classic standby--baklava. I ordered while trying to win over the mean Greek lady at the counter. I may have since she smiled at me as I paid or it might have been because I wildy over-ordered. That freaking box of baklava must have weighed 18 pounds.
I made it to Union Square relatively on time and met ibanker on his way from the store. He informed me that his roommate and his exgirlfriend would be joining us as well. I was immediately terrified--I had to sit through a whole dinner with the drunk, delirious child?? But once inside my worries were alleviated--he is completely different when sober. Instead of what I expected I found a well-mannered, socialable man-child. Much more pleasant. And ibanker turned out to be a ridic cook, which was very surprising. I had pictured him never going near a kitchen, unless it was to tell the chef what he wanted to eat that night. Dinner was jovial--ibanker and roommate recounted stories from their college days (all of them had gone to school together...a small, private school in Western MA...I tried not to feel out of place). Afterwards we attempted to eat the baklava but could only get through 2 pieces. Then on to apples to apples, one of my fav games. I think it was mostly because we needed the time to drink the 8 (yes 8, for 4 people) bottles of wine ibanker had purchased. And drank them we did--ibanker and I were the only ones to make it out to the bar.
A place called Back Fences (?) in the East Village (?). Ibanker raved about it the entire way there but I thought it was pretty mediocre, a place with peanut shells on the ground and a guy on stage with an acoustic guitar. We met a group of his ibanker friends who were already there. They were sitting at the VIP table, which in a place like this was a giant picnic table with a checkered plastic table cloth sectioned off from the rest of the bar. It was pretty hilarious. Then the rounds of shots started. It's like they had to show each other up. Before I knew it the whole table was singing along to Wonderwall and I decided I was going to have a 'tude--I sat there not singing and rolling my eyes. Such a charming date. Someone noticed it had started snowing out and ibanker decided that he wanted everyone to head back to his apartment to continue drinking on the rooftop. Which is what led me to standing in the snow, with a plastic cup full of wine, with the National blaring from the speakers that had been brought up. I kept telling ibanker that my hair was getting wet and he kept answering "don't worry it's just snow", which made perfect sense. I eventually went inside to the bathroom to see what I could do about my soaking wet hair and when I came out a few minutes later apparently everyone had left. I munched on some baklava and next thing I knew I was waking up in ibanker's bed, both of us fully-clothed (he even had his shoes on) on top of the covers. I then got up and trucked it back to work, relatively on time. And there it is--epic weekend. I think part of me still hasn't recovered.
Once awake a few hours later I decided that it was a three-day weekend and why stop here. I decided to creep the ibanker. He offered a movie, which changed to dinner, which changed to dinner at his place then out. I found this out at the last minute so had to take a sidetrip to Ditmars on my way to the subway and ran into the first Greek bakery I found. I had no idea what to bring so I went with a classic standby--baklava. I ordered while trying to win over the mean Greek lady at the counter. I may have since she smiled at me as I paid or it might have been because I wildy over-ordered. That freaking box of baklava must have weighed 18 pounds.
I made it to Union Square relatively on time and met ibanker on his way from the store. He informed me that his roommate and his exgirlfriend would be joining us as well. I was immediately terrified--I had to sit through a whole dinner with the drunk, delirious child?? But once inside my worries were alleviated--he is completely different when sober. Instead of what I expected I found a well-mannered, socialable man-child. Much more pleasant. And ibanker turned out to be a ridic cook, which was very surprising. I had pictured him never going near a kitchen, unless it was to tell the chef what he wanted to eat that night. Dinner was jovial--ibanker and roommate recounted stories from their college days (all of them had gone to school together...a small, private school in Western MA...I tried not to feel out of place). Afterwards we attempted to eat the baklava but could only get through 2 pieces. Then on to apples to apples, one of my fav games. I think it was mostly because we needed the time to drink the 8 (yes 8, for 4 people) bottles of wine ibanker had purchased. And drank them we did--ibanker and I were the only ones to make it out to the bar.
A place called Back Fences (?) in the East Village (?). Ibanker raved about it the entire way there but I thought it was pretty mediocre, a place with peanut shells on the ground and a guy on stage with an acoustic guitar. We met a group of his ibanker friends who were already there. They were sitting at the VIP table, which in a place like this was a giant picnic table with a checkered plastic table cloth sectioned off from the rest of the bar. It was pretty hilarious. Then the rounds of shots started. It's like they had to show each other up. Before I knew it the whole table was singing along to Wonderwall and I decided I was going to have a 'tude--I sat there not singing and rolling my eyes. Such a charming date. Someone noticed it had started snowing out and ibanker decided that he wanted everyone to head back to his apartment to continue drinking on the rooftop. Which is what led me to standing in the snow, with a plastic cup full of wine, with the National blaring from the speakers that had been brought up. I kept telling ibanker that my hair was getting wet and he kept answering "don't worry it's just snow", which made perfect sense. I eventually went inside to the bathroom to see what I could do about my soaking wet hair and when I came out a few minutes later apparently everyone had left. I munched on some baklava and next thing I knew I was waking up in ibanker's bed, both of us fully-clothed (he even had his shoes on) on top of the covers. I then got up and trucked it back to work, relatively on time. And there it is--epic weekend. I think part of me still hasn't recovered.
Weekend 6- Night 2: the van
Saturday/Saturday night- Now I had started working part-time at a certain national coffee house chain upon my arrival in NYC. I worked mostly on the weekends, and because of my misplaced priorities, I did not let it interfere too much with my going out. Which is why I arrived a half hour late, in my going out clothes from the night before, for my shift for Saturday afternoon. I had left the ibanker's late and basically had to run, hungover and in heels, the 6 blocks from the subway to the store. My supervisor was not pleased as I tried to sneak into the bathroom to change into my work clothes. I finished out my shift and afterwards had Hipster meet me--there was a dj in town I really wanted to see but of course it was sold out and we were going to try to scalp some tickets. I of course didn't have time to go home and since I had no other choice, I changed back into my outfit from the night before. Let me also point out that Friday had been unnaturally warm but on Saturday the temperature had plummetted roughly 30 degrees. I was not dressed appropriately--I realized this as I stepped outside in my dress, tights (which had acquired a lovely hole from the night before) and my light jacket. The wind was like being pelted with chunks of dry ice, and my legs were bright red by the time we walked to the subway 2 blocks away. We arrived at the venue but the only person selling was an idiot girl selling 1 ticket for $100. Pass. This is the second time I have tried unsuccessfully to see this dj-I don't think it will ever happen.
Luckily we had a backup dj we decided to see in Brookly. This was only $5 and wasn't sold out. We had some time to kill before the show so we went to Hipster's apartment where I promptly passed out on his couch. I woke up to he and his roommate chatting next to me. At this point it was late and the thought of going back outside physically sickened me. But we caught a second wind after discussing clubbing in Berlin and decided to man up. Now Hipster owns a van--a bright blue molester van. And of course driving this to Williamsburg was much more convenient than taking the subway or a cab. So before I knew it, I was wedged in the front seat of this van with two hipsters passing cans of 4loko back and forth, blasting Hot Chip. It was amazing.
We parked (knocking over a trash can) and walked to the venue to be greeted by a line around the block. We stood there for about a half hour, me shivering uncontrollably, when they finally announced that only 25 and over were being let in. A win, as half the line disappeared. We went in and the dj was awesome. I was annoyed though, as all the hipsters just stood there watching and not dancing. Not me, and not Hipster, since he kept trying to dance up on me. THis was uncomfortable but I still had a good time. Now at the end of the night I had every intention of taking the subway back home, but halfway through the dj realized I had left my phone plugged in to charge back at Hipster's. Shit. I obv had to go back and get it and though they offered to drive me back, this offer didn't hold up. Probably for the best as none of us was in any state to be driving cross-borough. I was going to curl up on the very short couch but knowing how uncomfortable this would be I reluctantly ended up sleeping in the bed with Hipster, my back to him, hugging the wall the entire night. That is until I woke up early in the morning and had to pee. In my 4loko, half asleep state I didn't know what the hell was going on. Hipster's bed was lofted and directly next to a window. I apparently started to claw at the curtains, thinking the window was the door. He woke up and made me stop. I then tried to step off the bed and he had to basically help me climb down the ladder so I didn't die. Despite where it seemed like this was going, I did make it to the bathroom and peed successfuly (in the toilet). Right after I got back we heard noise and the front door slam. Hipster's roommate, who was just as drunk as I was, had to work early this morning. A couple minutes later, Hipster receives a text from him "Fuck, mad late" followed by "Yup just starting to get hungover" a couple hours later. To be continued....
Luckily we had a backup dj we decided to see in Brookly. This was only $5 and wasn't sold out. We had some time to kill before the show so we went to Hipster's apartment where I promptly passed out on his couch. I woke up to he and his roommate chatting next to me. At this point it was late and the thought of going back outside physically sickened me. But we caught a second wind after discussing clubbing in Berlin and decided to man up. Now Hipster owns a van--a bright blue molester van. And of course driving this to Williamsburg was much more convenient than taking the subway or a cab. So before I knew it, I was wedged in the front seat of this van with two hipsters passing cans of 4loko back and forth, blasting Hot Chip. It was amazing.
We parked (knocking over a trash can) and walked to the venue to be greeted by a line around the block. We stood there for about a half hour, me shivering uncontrollably, when they finally announced that only 25 and over were being let in. A win, as half the line disappeared. We went in and the dj was awesome. I was annoyed though, as all the hipsters just stood there watching and not dancing. Not me, and not Hipster, since he kept trying to dance up on me. THis was uncomfortable but I still had a good time. Now at the end of the night I had every intention of taking the subway back home, but halfway through the dj realized I had left my phone plugged in to charge back at Hipster's. Shit. I obv had to go back and get it and though they offered to drive me back, this offer didn't hold up. Probably for the best as none of us was in any state to be driving cross-borough. I was going to curl up on the very short couch but knowing how uncomfortable this would be I reluctantly ended up sleeping in the bed with Hipster, my back to him, hugging the wall the entire night. That is until I woke up early in the morning and had to pee. In my 4loko, half asleep state I didn't know what the hell was going on. Hipster's bed was lofted and directly next to a window. I apparently started to claw at the curtains, thinking the window was the door. He woke up and made me stop. I then tried to step off the bed and he had to basically help me climb down the ladder so I didn't die. Despite where it seemed like this was going, I did make it to the bathroom and peed successfuly (in the toilet). Right after I got back we heard noise and the front door slam. Hipster's roommate, who was just as drunk as I was, had to work early this morning. A couple minutes later, Hipster receives a text from him "Fuck, mad late" followed by "Yup just starting to get hungover" a couple hours later. To be continued....
Friday, March 18, 2011
Weekend 6- Night 1: the Gays
Friday Night- This weekend was for some reason so epic that I need to devote a post to each night. So on this night I had plans with GF to go out because he had some friends in town. The night worked out where we never encountered these friends. I headed over to his apartment in the East Village later than intended, since he told me to stall coming over--he had had a date with a 40 year old co-worker earlier in the evening and apparently it was going well. So well that when I arrived the co-worker was still there and GF informed me they had already hooked up. We had a few drinks and listened to some house, while his date kept telling me I should be a model. A keeper, if you ask me. While I searched on the computer for a particular song GF and date began to make out. Despite how irritating this can be, I was much more comfortable with it than I would have been with a straight couple. We were pretty well-boozed at this point and decided to head out. We went to the bar where GF's roommate and friends were, took a look at the people in line and immediately vetoed this option. We ran into the Chinese restaurant next door so I could pee and reevaluate our game plan over shots. Date put it out there that we should head to a gay bar and I enthusiastically agreed. It was the usual--me drunkenly dancing with a roomful of males to Gaga and the likes. I was pretty much a waste face at this point and was very puzzled that there was no ladies' room (I've been to plenty of gay bars...I know this). I had been trying to coordinate plans with ibanker for a good part of the night and he was not being helpful. So it must've been at this point that I decided to text---cute guy. Yes, puke-in-the-sink guy. We hadn't spoken once since the day after the incident but not surprisingly he was enthusiastic to hear from me. An excerpt for our exchange:
Me: I AM AT A GAY BAR BAHA. LOVE THEM. SORRY THIS IS ALL CAPS BAHA.
Him: I see youre firing on all cylinders. Wish I was there to see it. And wtf is baha?
Presenting my best side, as usual. So Date decides he can longer keep up and leaves. GF and I decide to head to another gay bar. On the way we meet friends--an attractive gay man and his supposedly straight friend. We chat about lord knows what and hang out with them for a bit at the club. But not long after arrival, they mysteriously disappear. I know why-while all waiting in line for the bathroom I opened up the door on straight friend. I decide this is not an issue and inform him that I'm going to pee anyway. And I do--strange man at the urinal and me peeing in the toilet, both in the same one-person bathroom. Yes this could explain why we never heard from them again. But not a loss since GF and I still managed to get all our drinks for free.
Ibanker is finally being more responsive at this point and I decide why the hell not meet him at his other favorite bar. We take a cab all the way downtown and GF falls asleep on my shoulder. I have somehow sobered up a bit at this point. We arrive and the bar is packed because John Mayer is sitting at a table there. He is surrounded by people and I don't really give a shit. Now I have two particular friends who are obsessed with the man and they gave me hell for not going over and sitting on his lap. Though this would have made our already ridic night much more interesting, I unfortunatley did no such thing. We stay for a few minutes but GF is getting crabby so we all decide to leave. My plan is to go back with ibanker but GF tells me outside the bar that I "can do so much better". I cringe as ibanker is standing right next to us. GF keeps insisting that I go back with him but I somehow talk reason into him and we part ways. I get in a cab with ibanker and we stop at McDonalds for some delish late night treats. We walk into his apartment for our feasting and his roommate (remember drunk, delirious child?) is passed out, face down on the couch. Ibanker shakes him awake and attempts to get him to go to bed. Absolutely not. He sticks around trying to steal our nuggets. Ibanker is possessive of them and does not let him take any. In retaliation for this, roommate lunges for the nearest nintendo controller, which happens to be the yellow one (closest to the color of chicken). He puts it in his mouth and is just about to bite down before ibanker yells for him to stop. Roommate looks up, a twinkle in his eye, and informs him that he won't do it if he gets half the nuggets. Why reason with a person in this state, so ibanker wisely concedes. After our calorie fest, we all head to bed. To be continued...
Me: I AM AT A GAY BAR BAHA. LOVE THEM. SORRY THIS IS ALL CAPS BAHA.
Him: I see youre firing on all cylinders. Wish I was there to see it. And wtf is baha?
Presenting my best side, as usual. So Date decides he can longer keep up and leaves. GF and I decide to head to another gay bar. On the way we meet friends--an attractive gay man and his supposedly straight friend. We chat about lord knows what and hang out with them for a bit at the club. But not long after arrival, they mysteriously disappear. I know why-while all waiting in line for the bathroom I opened up the door on straight friend. I decide this is not an issue and inform him that I'm going to pee anyway. And I do--strange man at the urinal and me peeing in the toilet, both in the same one-person bathroom. Yes this could explain why we never heard from them again. But not a loss since GF and I still managed to get all our drinks for free.
Ibanker is finally being more responsive at this point and I decide why the hell not meet him at his other favorite bar. We take a cab all the way downtown and GF falls asleep on my shoulder. I have somehow sobered up a bit at this point. We arrive and the bar is packed because John Mayer is sitting at a table there. He is surrounded by people and I don't really give a shit. Now I have two particular friends who are obsessed with the man and they gave me hell for not going over and sitting on his lap. Though this would have made our already ridic night much more interesting, I unfortunatley did no such thing. We stay for a few minutes but GF is getting crabby so we all decide to leave. My plan is to go back with ibanker but GF tells me outside the bar that I "can do so much better". I cringe as ibanker is standing right next to us. GF keeps insisting that I go back with him but I somehow talk reason into him and we part ways. I get in a cab with ibanker and we stop at McDonalds for some delish late night treats. We walk into his apartment for our feasting and his roommate (remember drunk, delirious child?) is passed out, face down on the couch. Ibanker shakes him awake and attempts to get him to go to bed. Absolutely not. He sticks around trying to steal our nuggets. Ibanker is possessive of them and does not let him take any. In retaliation for this, roommate lunges for the nearest nintendo controller, which happens to be the yellow one (closest to the color of chicken). He puts it in his mouth and is just about to bite down before ibanker yells for him to stop. Roommate looks up, a twinkle in his eye, and informs him that he won't do it if he gets half the nuggets. Why reason with a person in this state, so ibanker wisely concedes. After our calorie fest, we all head to bed. To be continued...
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Weekend 5
So the last post provided you with the appropriate background for Friday night. But first...
Thursday night- Remember pseudo-guido from a couple of weekends ago? Well he somehow found me on facebook (even though I am hidden...?) and we exchanged a couple of messages. He invited me out to get some drinks Thursday night. I figured why the hell not since he could possibly be gay anyway and maybe I could meet some more people. Though come Thursday, I wondered what the f I was thinking the whole day. I decided not to cancel and trucked it to Soho in the freezing cold, while chatting on the phone with my bff from home. About 15 minutes in I realized I was quickly approaching Chinatown--like an idiot, I had gone the wrong way. I turned around and basically had to run and still managed to arrive 20 minutes late, toes numb and snot dripping from my nose. Though not as embarassing as it could have been because it was just--him. Before I knew it we were whisked away from the bar to a table in the restaurant. I had somehow gotten myself into another awkward date. Guess he's not gay. It didn't go badly, though it seemed like we were there forever. I ate my face off and drank an unhealthy amount of sangria while he recounted stories about his fraternity from 10 years earlier. I feigned interest and yapped back about god knows what. When it was finally time to leave he walked me to the subway (gentlemanly at least). We chatted awkwardly for a minute but he seemed to be sticking around longer than he should. Oh no, I thought in horror....he went for it, kissed me right on the mouth. I was not pleased, as I barely knew this guy and didn't know I was going to be on a date with him until I actually arrived. Dealbreaker. But at least I arrived home in time to watch the Jersey Shore!
Friday night- After my disaster date the night before I received a text from ibanker- there was a birthday celebration for the other ibanker, whom we had met on the beach, this night. I was ecstatic--a reunion with the boys! I was excited the whole day like a huge loser and gleefully chose my outfit. I walked to the subway somewhat on time. Right before getting into Manhattan I realized I had somehow forgotten my wallet. Fail. Had to go all the way back and missed dinner. I arrived at the Park Ave sushi place in time to witness their whole table do a saki bomb (I refrained) and then yell to their waiter that he looked like the guy from the Hangover (he did). Three of the ibankers I had met in Europe were there. We hugged and I was especially excited to see the Polish one (that is, Polish like me). After they paid their massive bill we took a couple cabs to the East Village and went to Bowery Hotel. Had a couple drinks and went to the next place, some sort of speakeasy. Let's keep in mind that I had skipped dinner--classic mistake. Rounds of drinks, as usual, and ibanker-from-Europe-number 4 shows up. Introduces himself and has no idea who I am. When I inform him, he is surprised because "my hair is different". "Yea", the others chime in, "it's lighter!". Keep in mind that these boys had met me one time and hadn't seen me in over 6 months, meanwhile I had seen my ibanker how many times since and he never noticed my hair. Amusing. To the next bar we go. We split up to hails cabs. Standing on a corner with ibanker 2 I see my iabnker and ibanker 4 waving us over to a limo. These assholes had convinced the limo driver to take us. I immediately jump in, take up a whole seat and begin to push all the buttons. The most hilarious ride ever. We arrive at the bar and all stumble out and go inside. Hazy--I had conversations with multiple different people in our group and have no idea what was said. I was convinced one of the girls who was part of our group was a rando from the bar before. I think at one point I spotted ibanker talking to a different girl. I couldn't remember where I put my coat at the end of the night and almost ended up in tears again. I was so hungover the next day that I had to turn on the shower and run the sink while I threw up in ibanker's bathroom and couldn't leave until 3 in the afternoon. So my night with the ibankers had definetly been more successful over the summer. That's what I get for trying to keep up with them.
Saturday night- At this point I decided that to keep being a normal human being I needed to call it quits for a night. I really had no choice as I had to power-write a paper for my online grad class the whole night. I was exhausted, not feeling well and paranoid that I had done something to embarass myself the night before. It was not a good night and is the only weekend night so far that I have stayed in, in NYC. It was needed though as the next weekend turned out to be truly epic....
Thursday night- Remember pseudo-guido from a couple of weekends ago? Well he somehow found me on facebook (even though I am hidden...?) and we exchanged a couple of messages. He invited me out to get some drinks Thursday night. I figured why the hell not since he could possibly be gay anyway and maybe I could meet some more people. Though come Thursday, I wondered what the f I was thinking the whole day. I decided not to cancel and trucked it to Soho in the freezing cold, while chatting on the phone with my bff from home. About 15 minutes in I realized I was quickly approaching Chinatown--like an idiot, I had gone the wrong way. I turned around and basically had to run and still managed to arrive 20 minutes late, toes numb and snot dripping from my nose. Though not as embarassing as it could have been because it was just--him. Before I knew it we were whisked away from the bar to a table in the restaurant. I had somehow gotten myself into another awkward date. Guess he's not gay. It didn't go badly, though it seemed like we were there forever. I ate my face off and drank an unhealthy amount of sangria while he recounted stories about his fraternity from 10 years earlier. I feigned interest and yapped back about god knows what. When it was finally time to leave he walked me to the subway (gentlemanly at least). We chatted awkwardly for a minute but he seemed to be sticking around longer than he should. Oh no, I thought in horror....he went for it, kissed me right on the mouth. I was not pleased, as I barely knew this guy and didn't know I was going to be on a date with him until I actually arrived. Dealbreaker. But at least I arrived home in time to watch the Jersey Shore!
Friday night- After my disaster date the night before I received a text from ibanker- there was a birthday celebration for the other ibanker, whom we had met on the beach, this night. I was ecstatic--a reunion with the boys! I was excited the whole day like a huge loser and gleefully chose my outfit. I walked to the subway somewhat on time. Right before getting into Manhattan I realized I had somehow forgotten my wallet. Fail. Had to go all the way back and missed dinner. I arrived at the Park Ave sushi place in time to witness their whole table do a saki bomb (I refrained) and then yell to their waiter that he looked like the guy from the Hangover (he did). Three of the ibankers I had met in Europe were there. We hugged and I was especially excited to see the Polish one (that is, Polish like me). After they paid their massive bill we took a couple cabs to the East Village and went to Bowery Hotel. Had a couple drinks and went to the next place, some sort of speakeasy. Let's keep in mind that I had skipped dinner--classic mistake. Rounds of drinks, as usual, and ibanker-from-Europe-number 4 shows up. Introduces himself and has no idea who I am. When I inform him, he is surprised because "my hair is different". "Yea", the others chime in, "it's lighter!". Keep in mind that these boys had met me one time and hadn't seen me in over 6 months, meanwhile I had seen my ibanker how many times since and he never noticed my hair. Amusing. To the next bar we go. We split up to hails cabs. Standing on a corner with ibanker 2 I see my iabnker and ibanker 4 waving us over to a limo. These assholes had convinced the limo driver to take us. I immediately jump in, take up a whole seat and begin to push all the buttons. The most hilarious ride ever. We arrive at the bar and all stumble out and go inside. Hazy--I had conversations with multiple different people in our group and have no idea what was said. I was convinced one of the girls who was part of our group was a rando from the bar before. I think at one point I spotted ibanker talking to a different girl. I couldn't remember where I put my coat at the end of the night and almost ended up in tears again. I was so hungover the next day that I had to turn on the shower and run the sink while I threw up in ibanker's bathroom and couldn't leave until 3 in the afternoon. So my night with the ibankers had definetly been more successful over the summer. That's what I get for trying to keep up with them.
Saturday night- At this point I decided that to keep being a normal human being I needed to call it quits for a night. I really had no choice as I had to power-write a paper for my online grad class the whole night. I was exhausted, not feeling well and paranoid that I had done something to embarass myself the night before. It was not a good night and is the only weekend night so far that I have stayed in, in NYC. It was needed though as the next weekend turned out to be truly epic....
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Background...
I'm going to take a little time-out here and give some background info. This way the next weekend's story can be truly appreciated. It's late July last summer and I'm traveling around this particular Balkan European country with my friend Judgers, who is probably the wildest girl I've ever met. Despite how crazy our trip turned out I would say it was relatively tame compared to what it could have been. We go to the beach one day and of course Judgers picks out chairs right next to a couple guys. I'm exhausted and miserably hot--all I want to do is sleep and try not to slide out of my beach chair. One of the guys comments on how exotic our accents are--sarcastically of course since they turn out to be ibankers from NYC. My ibanker in question is one of these guys and I'm so delirously tired that I don't even notice his purple short-shorts he is alledgedly wearing, alledgedly in jest. We all chat for the afternoon and make plans to meet up with them at the cable car later that night to go up one of the mountains. I know we need to milk this one so I hussle us along that evening to get ready. We still end up late and have to run to try and catch the bus. No bother as the lovely foreign bus driver still pulls away despite the two crazed girls running towards him. We end up walking to the cable car, looking like sweaty messes and too late to meet them. We take the cable car up anyway and lo and behold there are our bankers, along with 6 of their friends, at the bar at the top.
The story with these guys--all bankers in NY and they had been chartering a sailboat around the Adriatic for the past week. Their favorite phrase to yell out was "HALLO, FRUIT PARTY" and their anthem for the trip was No Parlo Americano. I was very pleased with all of this. We ended up having an epic dinner with them--me, Judgers and 8 guys. We were the loudest, most obnoxious table in the restaurant even when the waiters tried to punish us with a free round of shots of bootleg liquor. Though it did quiet us down for a full 5 seconds as we recovered there was no stopping us. Time to go out. We made the rounds around town. One of the shining memories I have from this is standing wearing my ibanker's sunglasses watching 8 tooly guys in neon shorts dance super enthusiastically to No Parlo. I also remember dancing my face off to the current Euro house hits at someplace called the Latin Club and deciding I was going to drink roughly 8 tequila sunrises (I never drink those). Nothing was paid for by us and fun was had by all. We ended the night at the boys' hotel in the center of town. I was told that Judgers left with a few of them to go swimming in the Adriatic and walked back into the hotel lobby afterwards, in her underwear, soaking wet and asking the staff for a towel. Her ibanker then decided to get the two of them a room of their own, which caused some confusion when I woke up in the morning and had to locate her. The gaps to this story were filled in by future meetings with the ibanker. And this is how we met....
The story with these guys--all bankers in NY and they had been chartering a sailboat around the Adriatic for the past week. Their favorite phrase to yell out was "HALLO, FRUIT PARTY" and their anthem for the trip was No Parlo Americano. I was very pleased with all of this. We ended up having an epic dinner with them--me, Judgers and 8 guys. We were the loudest, most obnoxious table in the restaurant even when the waiters tried to punish us with a free round of shots of bootleg liquor. Though it did quiet us down for a full 5 seconds as we recovered there was no stopping us. Time to go out. We made the rounds around town. One of the shining memories I have from this is standing wearing my ibanker's sunglasses watching 8 tooly guys in neon shorts dance super enthusiastically to No Parlo. I also remember dancing my face off to the current Euro house hits at someplace called the Latin Club and deciding I was going to drink roughly 8 tequila sunrises (I never drink those). Nothing was paid for by us and fun was had by all. We ended the night at the boys' hotel in the center of town. I was told that Judgers left with a few of them to go swimming in the Adriatic and walked back into the hotel lobby afterwards, in her underwear, soaking wet and asking the staff for a towel. Her ibanker then decided to get the two of them a room of their own, which caused some confusion when I woke up in the morning and had to locate her. The gaps to this story were filled in by future meetings with the ibanker. And this is how we met....
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Weekend 4
Weekend 4:
Friday night- Again, despite my ridiculous behavior the weekend before, ibanker surprisingly accepted my invitation to a museum event. We meet outside the museum and enter the rotunda, which contains some of the best people-watching I’ve been exposed to. One girl was wearing a tutu. We head straight for the bar and its massive line before realizing we need tickets. We get to the front, order and ibanker runs back to buy the drink tickets, while I stand there as “collateral”. He runs back shoves the tickets at the man and drops one in the pitcher of orange juice. We chuckle and quickly walk away with our drinks. We review the weekend before, finish our drinks and decide to see the exhibit—this involves me looking at the art while he follows me, checking his blackberry. We leave soon after to make our dinner reservation in the East Village. After trucking around in my heels looking for the place, we are rewarded with an epic tapas dinner. We wildly over-ordered and were there for about three hours. In this time we chatted pleasantly and I saved a girl from catching her coat on fire. Afterwards we headed back to Lilly's, ibanker's bar of choice (this is the third time I had been there with him) before settling in, in Union Square, in his apartment above a shoe store, with stainless steel appliances and floor-to-ceiling windows in his room.
Saturday night- I decided to counter-balance the previous night's class with something a bit grittier this night—hipsters. An old friend from high school had invited me out. He was my punk friend who wore wood glue in his hair, whom I had met at a punk show at the local community center. He was currently living in Brooklyn and we hadn't met up yet. After a miscommunication and the slowest N train ever, I arrived to meet him in Union Square 45 minutes late. Walking quickly and with my head down, in case ibanker was around, I walked to the corner to meet him. We hug and he informs me his friend and his girlfriend will be joining us. Apparently I had unknowingly walked into a double-date. I turn to introduce myself to the friend and surprise! We are already acquainted. Well in fact, as we had hooked up in Myrtle Beach on spring break during senior year of high school. We kept that fact to ourselves and shook hands awkwardly. His girlfriend is from the same town as my cousins and of course knows them. How is my city so small, even when in NYC?? We decide to get food and I agree that a second dinner couldn't hurt. We begin our walk to (of course) the East Village. On the way there, I see a shady looking man stumbling down the sidewalk. He spots hipster friend and heads straight for him. “Hey give me that jacket!” he demands, grabbing at Hipster's leather coat. Hipster objects and tries to dodge him. Shady man gets in his face and begins to yell. Hipster is more agile than he looks and dodges him and we quickly cross the street. “Fuck y'all, you dicks!” Shady Man yells in parting. We laugh, though poor Hipster is visibly shaken. We arrive at the restaurant and Hipster ends up ordering a sandwich with basically a vat of hummus poured over it. We poke fun and afterwards head to a bar where the girlfriend tells a story about her friend's poodle who wears a bomber jacket. Since I think dogs in clothes are one of the funniest things ever, I basically pee my pants laughing. We then head home and I take the subway back to Astoria by myself (and survive).
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 4th 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.
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.
My first weekend in NYC
Weekend 1:
Thursday night- Not bad that Thursday is classified as part of the weekend considering I had been in NYC less than a week. I moved down the weekend before with my parents, me and as much of my shit as I could stuff into the SUV rental that I could manage. Hung-over as hell, which was an appropriate exit from Syracuse, introduction to New York and pretty much my life story for the past year.
It's the first day of my internship at a prestigious modern art museum in the city. I'm wildly overdressed, as I know I have a date that night. A date already?! Pre-arranged with an ibanker I had met in a Baltic European country, traveling last summer. How exotic. A huge tool, but likeable and I found myself strangely drawn to him. Safe, maybe, and the paycheck doesn't hurt, let's not dance around this one. So we hooked up, stayed in touch and once I had determined that I had not freaked him out too badly by announcing via text a couple months before that I was moving to New York, he said he wanted to take me out to dinner. Which brings me trucking around Chelsea, in heels and in the wrong direction, cursing my life and the cold. I finally arrived at Buddakhan roughly 20 minutes late, which also sets the tone so far for my time in New York. But it was all up-hill from there. Good (but overpriced food) and this fool actually looks real good in a suit. My goal of fancy date has been accomplished week 1 in New York. (I texted this to my friend I had left behind in Upstate NY on the subway the next morning at roughly 8AM).
Friday night- My first weekend night out. Much more expensive than the previous night but also a bit rowdier. I invited my fabulous gay friend to be my date to a museum event, as my date from the night before was out of town. The point in this museum internship-sponsored event was a get-to-know-your-fellow-interns but of course GF and I had nothing to do with that. We spent the whole evening catching up, while sipping wine and then trying unsuccessfully to bring it with us to view the museum exhibits. By the time we finished that everyone had left, so we decided to head out and have our night really begin. Now to put this in context, this is a friend whom I had studied abroad with in college and gone out to many a house club with—we love that shit. So that was our goal for the night-dance our asses to some house music. I had read about a party in the upper west side which was to be our final destination. First we decided for some reason unbeknownst to me to head to a bar in the East Village. Boring. We stayed for a drink and decided we were hungry as shit. We wandered and found some pizza. Not a good decision, as was GF ordering the ravioli pizza and myself deciding I wanted some fruit punch for my beverage. GF's pizza tasted like Chef Boyardee and my juice literally tasted like a pixie stick. We ate all of it. Then cab for our awesome destination. We took the escalator up to what seemed like should be an awesome, down and dirty electronic music club. False. A ritzy yet awesome hotel bar with logs and ridic décor. The music wasn't bad either. We stopped by the bar (no Stoli, which is my drink of choice) and that's when I made the fatal decision that we were going to be drinking grey goose for the rest of the night. Needless to say, we gave up on finding our original place (even after being huffed at by the snooty cocktail waitress) as the music was pretty good here. We danced and next thing I knew GF was shoving me in a cab barking instructions for Astoria. I ended the night proud of myself for not yelling back at the nasty cab driver, broke, drunk and with a smile on my face.
Saturday night- My first couple weeks in NYC I harassed everyone I knew (even just a little bit) that lived here to hang out with me. I won't lie, I still do it when necessary. So this particular night I decided to call up my old elementary and high school friend MM. We hadn’t spoken in quite a bit but I did run into her when we were home for Christmas so I decided it wasn't too creeptastic to call her. Good choice. Of course she wanted to hang out that night. So after taking the wrong train, I arrived a half hour late in the East Village to meet her at her friend's birthday dinner. I was definitely her excuse to leave, but I had no problems with it since I wanted to get the hell out of there too. We went to a bar up the street for a drink (which turned into multiple) and to catch up. We did indeed and decided to head back to Williamsburg, where she lives and is apparently the mayor. We entered her favorite bar and—bearded men everywhere. And every time I turned around MM was hugging one of them. I almost jumped in surprise when a particularly burly one approached us at the bar. “Oh that's my exboyfriend”, MM explained. THAT is the guy she had been whining about this whole time? I took another slug of my (free) drink. That's where the night becomes a blur, though I know we drank entirely too much free liquor, danced like idiots at the Cove and ended the night having a deep discussion about our Polish background over kebobs. Which as a sidenote, are nothing like the doner kebobs I had come to expect from studying in Germany for 6 months. Doners are a delicious treat—kebob meat, FRENCH FRIES, vegs and curry or tzatiki sauce all mixed together in what resembles a Chinese takeout box. Amazing. Williamsburg kebob-failure. Also sober and not hungover in Williamsburg-failure. I didn't leave her apartment until 5:00 the next day, after we spent the day laying like corpses around her apartment, watching Jersey Shore and attempting to eat pizza. I almost gave my roommate a heart attack as well, since my first weekend in NYC I only came home for one of the nights. Pattern....
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