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?
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