The Wedding Extravaganza

Obvs not mine. My good friend Mouth. Remember back to the Cuse background stories with the East Side Boys? She is one of the West Side Girls, the one who got pushed down the hill by S.dot. Yes Mouth is the bride in this said wedding extravaganza.

Mouth had met her hubs way out west in the desert where they live and they were making the trek to Cuse to tie the knot. I feel like when she first told us the news it had seemed like months away and I couldn't believe it was now upon us. I pondered this on one of my greyhound bus rides (4 in a week and a half). As a sidenote, greyhound bus rides can sometimes be a fate worse than death. The people I was subjected to were unbelievable--an Asian man screaming into his phone for half the ride, a clearly drunk man who kept stumbling to the bathroom, and a massively fat, sleeping woman whose breathing sounded exactly like a walrus. But all worth it for my dear friend Mouth. My first weekend back to Cuse was for the bachelorette party. We had a nice dinner in Syracuse's Little Italy and a classic night out downtown planned. A bunch of Mouth's friends came into town, including Lulu, whom I hadn't seen in ages. Everyone arrived for the fiesta dressed in nice, flowered dresses...except for me. I decided a black dress, gray tights and booties would be perfect, because nothing says "let's celebrate" like black and gray. Dinner was a feast and I almost threw up from laughing when Lulu told a story that I have no memory of but could definitely picture--apparently me, her and Mouth went for dinner one summer during college. On the drive back home Mouth and I made the executive decision that Lulu's doggie bag of food was too smelly and proceeded to throw it out the window to her dismay. Luckily we have both matured (slightly) and refrained from doing this to her again on the short drive downtown. Upon our arrival we were greeted by the usual trash--too tan girl in short dresses and stilettos and more chin straps than should be legal. We made our rounds and even met up with some old friends--S.Dot, Malpal and my friend Botch, whom I went to Mardi Gras with last year. He is a loud idiot and kept touching my hair right in front of his girlfriend, who is no fan of mine. After the bars closed we decided to keep the party going and head up to Mouth's sister's apartment on SU Hill (very fitting for us). I had decided that buying a bunch of 4loko for the occasion would be an awesome idea. And it was--until we tried the blue raspberry flavor. It was as bad as a blue raspberry lollipop laced with acid. We could barely finish one can of it between three of us. After hanging out for awhile some loser Syracuse hipsters crashed the party and since the birds were chirping outside we decided to take our traditional drive back across the city to the West Side. Mouth's last night out in Cuse as a single girl.
Exactly a week later this changed--Wedding Day. My greyhound bus had pulled in pretty late the night before, so not only did I miss the entire rehearsal dinner, I also rolled into Mouth's house for wedding prep late. Now I haven't been to too many weddings but despite everything that was happening around her, Mouth was the calmest bride I have ever seen. It seemed that everyone in the world was running around the house, looking for something, asking when we were doing what, and asking her any other question they could think of, including me. She just sat there calmly as the girl did her hair and makeup and informed us all to do whatever the hell we wanted. Not long after this we headed to the church to do the damn thing. We gathered outside waiting for whatever was being done inside and were able to witness the guests coming in. CB from Astoria walked up, accompanied by an unfamiliar man. We chatted for a min and finally I decided to ask who the hell the dude was (note--right in front of him). Turns out it was her exboyfriend from college, whom I had met on several occasions. Oops. But the best faux pas came a few minutes later when one of Mouth's husband's friends walked up, whom apparently she had not met before. In front of everyone she says loudly "Hi! You must be Black Rob!". He looks at her with a mixture of confusion and annoyance and replies "No, I'm Jeremy". Oops again.

We barely had time to recover from laughing, as the ceremony was about to begin. Me and my fellow bridesmaids stood in our places, while Mouth quickly swallowed some prescription painkillers. When it was my turn to walk down the aisle, I wondered when was the last time I had been inside a church all the while trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. We took our places on the altar and witnessed what was a beautiful ceremony. But the best part for me was during Communion. I didn't know that it was a part of the ceremony so I was surprised. Having no other choice, I walked up to accept the wafer from Mouth (she and her husband were doling them out to the guests). I held out my hands and when I looked in her face I saw a familiar mischievous gleam in her eye. Instead of greeting me with the traditional words one is supposed to say, Mouth said "Who wants snaaaacks??" very quietly. I shoved the thing in my mouth as quickly as I could in the hopes that it would prevent me from laughing any harder.

After the ceremony: party time. After some pictures where I literally could not keep my eyes open we all trucked to the reception. While the bridal party waited to make our entrance my groomsman, whom I had never met before, tried to convince me to do a crazy dance when we walked in. I flatly refused and informed him I was far too white for that. I think I pissed him off, as he did not say anything to me for the rest of the reception. Fine, I was busy feeding my face with Dinosaur BBQ, champagne and plates full of homemade cookies. I was like a disgusting animal and after it was all over I was seriously afraid I was going to split my bridesmaid dress. Then I went back for more. When I had recovered a little bit, Lulu, Mouth and Mairey (who had been spotted earlier in the evening walking around with a champagne bottle in one hand and an entire pitcher of beer in the other) dragged me and CB to the dancefloor where we danced our faces off to the Killers "All these things that Ive done", which is basically our theme song. Other highlights I noticed, despite my food coma, was Lulu catching the bouquet and her long-term boyfriend catching the garter. They then reversed the situation and Lulu very non-sexily put the garter on his leg. It was precious. The whole experience was fun but also a bit surreal; I didn't actually think I was involved in a wedding even when I was walking down the aisle. Hopefully I do not feel this way on my own wedding day, if that day ever comes.

We rounded the day off with a classic blowout party at Mouth's family's house. All of her gigantic Irish Catholic family was there, the Arizona reps courtesy of her new husband, and us, the usual suspects. We moved back and forth between the house and then giant tent outside, eating tons of food, drinking beer from the keg, singing along to Mumford and the Postal Service being played by her uncle on the guitar and telling each other ridiculous stories, including a joint venture between Mouth and her husband of how they met, which was pretty f-ing cute. Later in the night we busted out the old VHS tape of our senior year of high school and bored everyone present, while the Crew laughed hysterically. Leaving the party was bittersweet, as I knew things would never be the same. But how could I let this bother me when Mouth was clearly so happy? We then split up and headed in our seperate directions, which is fairly representative of our lives at the moment and the changes that our about to take place. Mouth headed to the hotel with her husband and Mairey and I to the bar, which were both coincidentally located in the same neighborhood. So you better believe later that night, as Mairey and I were walking back to the car, we passed the hotel and yelled "You're having sseeeeex!!" as loud as we could.

Happy Wedding Mouth :)

A Sampling of Weeknights in NYC

Now it's true, most of my weeknights consist of going back to my dumpy apartment, "cooking" a really terrible dinner, pretending to apply for jobs and working out to my Isreali DVD, led by a very svelt man named Gilad. But every once in awhile I have to mix it up and do something relatively exciting. Luckily my friend GF is there to coerce me into this. On this particular night he wanted to get drinks on a fairly new hotel's rooftop bar. Because my apartment was roughly 110 degrees and I was wearing a decent outfit I agreed. I headed over to Flatiron, to place called 230 Fifth and met GF...aaand his boss. Apparently GF had given him a courtesy invite, which to his dismay was accepted. The guy wasn't bad, aside from his tacky suit. He was good-looking and had some decent stories. But he would not hesitate to talk about the old days, 20 years ago--his times partying in Miami, the models he had dated, etc. But GF and I played along, partly because the stories were interesting and partly because he paid for all our drinks. It was a good time, boozing on a rooftop with a view of the Empire State Building directly behind us.

After a couple hours Boss dipped out and GF and I decided to continue our night in Meatpacking. I hadn't been able to get in to any of the rooftop bars there yet and since it was a Wednesday we decided to head to the Gansevoort Hotel's rooftop. We were let right in and this time enjoyed a drink with views of the river. We tired quickly though, as it was roughly 95 degrees. I decided it would be a wise decision to stay on GF's couch in the AC, since my apartment had none and I would probably die from a heatstroke in the night if I went back there. We cabbed it back to the Lower East Side, fed our faces with some McDonald's, watched some Chelsea Lately and passed out.

In the morning I woke up and showered. I figured I was fine in my sweaty outfit from the previous day because I was going to a different job and the day's temperature was supposed to be even hotter than the day before. When I walked out of the bathroom, with a towel around my head I ran into GF's roommate, who didn't recognize me and obviously thought I was the victim of a one-night stand. This was clarified awhile later on the subway-his roommate and I were headed in the same direction. I really wonder what the people on the subway around us were thinking when they heard us talking.

I went to work and spent the day insanely tired. My day was not over at 5 though like it normally would have been. I had plans with a coworker to go to an art show at a random warehouse space in downtown Brooklyn later that night. I walked the 10 blocks to the subway I needed to take but about halfway through I decided that this was one of the sweatiest experiences I had ever had, due to the ungodly temp. I then remembered the Victoria's Secret coupon I had in my wallet for a free pair of underwear. How convenient. I went in, chose a pair, and when I got to the other office to meet my coworker I changed into them in the bathroom. This made me feel a little better, even though I knew my coworker recognized my outfit from the day before. We headed to Brooklyn and when we emerged from the subway we were greeted by one of the most intense rainstorms I have ever witnessed. I did not have an umbrella, not that it would have done me any good, so we waited it out. When it finally subsided we walked around dtown Brooklyn looking for some food. What a dump. It was like the nastiest part of downtown Syracuse, made bigger and with more people. I wanted nothing more than to be out of there. Luckily a dollar slice of pizza distracted me and by the time I had finished eating it it was about time to head to the art show.

This show was a performance piece in which the audience was expected to participate. I was wary of this, but figured anything would be better than dying in my brick oven apartment. We showed up to the space which very closely resembled an old hospital from a Communist Bloc country. There were people in white jackets walking around, clearly supposed to resemble nurses and doctors. Before we were allowed to enter they asked us about any symptoms we were having and then assigned us to different performances. The first was a "group therapy" session in which everyone present participated all at once. It was led by the artist himself, a short weird little man from Mexico City. We were led into the basement and directed to put on a pair of chemistry goggles and lie on the ground in a circle with a balloon between our knees. Never mind, the skirt I was wearing. At least I now had on clean underwear. He then directed us to think of a special place while thrusting our pelvises into the air. I immediately vetoed the latter direction. There was no way I was thrusting anything in a skirt, in a room full of strangers, especially with the Celibacy Campaign I was involved in (2 months in!). I was indirectly scolded by the artist at one point but did not give a shit. I did however think of this special place, which was the beach last summer in Croatia. It had been on my mind a lot lately and was a pretty fantastic story, which had led to some more fantastic stories. After this activity we had to go around and tell the circle where we had gone with some deets about it. The best was courtesy of the monstrous European girl next to me--she was at the top of a mountain she had hiked with her lover, who had gone into a jealously attack and started shaking. Yes she really said this.

After that, to let off some steam, the artist instructed us to lay on our backs on the floor with our heads on someone else's belly and laugh for what seemed like an eternity. I laid there constructing my grocery list in my head. My next activities were a role-playing session that reminded me of summer camp and one where I was blindfolded and rolled around in a chair with different color lights in my face, to compare my reaction with those that undergo color therapy and drop acid.

From this I determined that though I have a general interest in art, participating in performance art just isn't my dealio. It did however make for a good story and was definite NYC-only experience....

The Ibanker

Perhaps it's a bit presumptous of me to write an entire post devoted to one person, but whether I like it or not, he is the person I have hung out with the most since I've been in NYC. Quite a feat, considering he is so elusive, one of his bad qualities. Others include his significant drinking problem and the fact that he is a huge tool (lots of boat shoes and pink in this one's closet). He is a rich dick as well--he has been all over the world, goes sailing and skiing, and when I invited him to be my guest at the members' only exhibit opening at one of the museums where I interned, he walked around typing on his blackberry the whole time. But for some reason I find this guy endearing. He's fun and funny. He takes me out, compliments me and has never pressured me to sleep with him (if anything, it's the reverse....). I think he is a decent guy, though, who knows, he could surprise me.

As a recap, we met in the Balkan European country last summer and hit it off. He was really the one good thing that happened in my horrible last couple weeks in Europe. We continued to email after the trip, and met up the couple of times when I went to NYC last fall. And here we are.

The day after my night out with OG, Javier, GF and the French girls we met up for dinner. We were supposed to meet up the night before but he was too drunk to make a coherent plan. He showed up to our 6pm dinner date (Italian place in the West Village) really hungover but trying to act like he wasn't. We sat and I could tell immediately that he was not well. He was slumped over and he looked pallid in comparison to his pink polo. I was concerned that he was going to pass out, although more for my sake than his. He went outside for some air but upon his return still was not better. He refused to leave so not knowing what else to do I went to the bathroom and sent a venting, desperate text to OG. When I came back to the table he had finally relented and had our food wrapped up, along with our entire bottle of wine (his stipulation to the waiter when ordering was that he preferred it to be "under $100"....just another illustration of our financial differences). We walked out of the restuarant with our packages and I was slightly embarrassed. We hopped a cab and went back to his apartment to finish the meal. We set up shop in front of the TV and I almost immediately kicked an entire glass of wine all over the carpet and in one of his boat shoes. I told him to take care of the shoe while I dabbed the carpet with a wet paper towel (no cleaning supplies present in that apartment). I finished just as his roommate (the owner of the rug) walked back in. After he walked by Ibanker commented that it would have been hilarious if he had knocked over a glass on his way by and then we would of course make a scene. We finished out the night watching episodes of Always Sunny and 30 Rock on Hulu and due to his condition I went back to Queens afterwards, probably the only time I have not stayed over there.

I spent my last night at his Union Square apartment the night that I returned from DC. It was his last night there as well; he was moving out the next day. I went immediately there from the bus ride, disgustingly sweaty and recovering from the embarrassment of having my dress blown all the way up when I stood on a subway grate while waiting for my bag. His text to lure me over was:
"I am on an aero bed in an empty apartment listening to a british periodical podcast and drinking leftover wine. You will never look at me the same again".
His description of the situation was completely accurate. No furniture whatsoever in the apartment, the Economist playing on his laptop and his token Trader Joe's wine. It was ridiculous and I was pretty happy about it. This continued when we had to walk down to the bodega to get toilet paper. For some reason I was so happy to be living in New York at that moment, walking down the street at night in the sweltering heat with Ibanker and his madras shorts. Maybe because it reminded me of when we met the summer before. Enough of the sentiment though, we went back and hooked up on a twin aero bed. We also chatted and he told me a good story about when he studied abroad in Scotland:
--His roommate was a complete Scottish hooligan and Ibanker could never understand anything he said. Upon their meeting the Scot mumbled something and he responded with "Yes". Scot then yelled that he asked him his name and Ibanker's response was again "Yes...?". At one point during the semester he had a friend from the US visit and he brought dip with him. They gave some of the "Yankee shite" to the Scot and met up with him a couple hours later at the bar. He did not look well and kept taking deep drinks of his pint. Upon investigation into his issue they determined that the Scot still had the dip in his mouth and for the past couple hours had been swallowing his saliva, rather than spitting it out. He was somehow still alive and just "didn't feel well".
Here are other samplings of Ibanker stories:
--In high school he had a college admissions interview at the school where his brother went. He had gotten tanked the night before at his bro's frat and even witnessed a frat guy jump off the roof and break his leg. Ibanker's interview with the Dean was at 9am the next morning. Needless to say, he was extremely hungover. The interview seemed to be going well, though, until halfway through he had to excuse himself. He ran to the bathroom off the office and puked his face off. He then returned and finished the interview. A few months later, with his acceptance letter, he received a handwritten note from the Dean telling him that it was one of the best interviews he had ever had with a student.
--A few days before we met, in the Balkan European country, Ibanker cut his hand open on the sailboat they were chartering (white guy problem for sure). He had to go to the local hospital which looked like it had not been modernized since the country was still part of Yugoslavia. When the doctor came in, Ibanker, charmer that he is, said "So you've done this before right", while smiling. The doctor looked right at him and says completely monotone and with no expression, "Haha Yes". Ibanker has a large scar on his hand.
--He takes frequent business trips. On one to LA (he hates California): he sent me this text "I've been here about 20 minutes and I'm already weirded out. I think my driver is on lithium and he seems like he may break out into song at any moment". He then proceeded to tell Ibanker all about Russian mobsters in LA who kidnap people and harvest their organs. Luckily he did make it back to New York.

So back to the empty apartment and the aero bed, I determined that was much better than sleeping at my non-air conditioned apartment so I stayed. We squeezed onto the bed and since I had complained about being hot Ibanker turned the AC down to 60. I shivered the whole night, but I did catch him covering me up with more blankets when he thought I was sleeping. In the morning I made my final departure from the apartment where we had spent a good deal of time and I haven't seen him since then.
I don't know what our deal is and I don't really know what I want it to be at this point. My plan right now is to wait to see if he invites me to his Hamptons share for July (fingers crossed!- I will be insulted if he doesn't) and then go to the Cut Copy concert with the group of Ibankers. Then I plan on asking him for clarification on our situation. It will have been a year since we met so I think that's fair. But for now I will keep harassing him to hang out with me, put up with his bullshit and enjoy it when we actually do see each other.

Long Weekend in Washington Part 2

The next day I spent with AD at her rooftop pool. I wasn't nearly as hungover as the day before so it was much more pleasant. We also had a guest join us for a bit--the Cute kid from the night before. We had been very insistent that we come to his friend's bbq, which I would have been all about except I had plans--a beer garden in Northeast which opened after I moved away. I met up with ED (who came to visit me in Hamburg as well) and her roommate JS. We had all worked together at the same law firm when I lived in DC and just before I moved away the three of us took a trip to Argentina together. It was good to be reunited with them--we chatted and caught up on the long metro ride to Northeast. When we finally made it my other friend from the same law firm was waiting for us--the Blumster. I hadn't seen him in almost 2 years and it was a glorious reunion as well. Unfortunately the beer garden was absolutely packed and we had an hour and a half wait. To pass the time we went to another bar down the street. This one had a nice patio and we sat on it, reminiscing about the days at the Firm and how terrible it was.

After we had all gotten appropriately buzzed we decided to house some food. Now Blumster is one of the biggest snobs I know, which I love and he also tends to make very non-pc comments which is also funny. But this was the crowning moment in the history of inappropriate comments. As the waitress was coming over with our food, Blumster did not notice and decided to make a racsist comment. We all cringed--as soon as the statement escaped his mouth she had happened to be standing right behind him. She also happened to be Black and had clearly heard him. We decided to eat quickly and head over to the Beer Garden to see if we could get a table early. On the way there Blumster's "friend" met us--he was a very flamboyant gay man from Kentucky. He also happened to be at Smith Point the night before as well and informed me that his friend was the one who had puked all over the bathroom (which I had the bad luck to walk into soon after it had occurred). We were somehow able to get a table in a prime spot and sooner than I knew it, we were drinking beers as big as our faces. Oh yes--Germany. I of course took that opportunity to show everyone present the infamous German underwear video. We stayed for awhile, but not as long as I would've liked. I had to get back to AD's so that we could get ready for the dj we were seeing that night. Luckily Blumster and his friend had to leave as well--they made the executive decision to have us take a gypsy cab, which is an unlicensed cab. Basically a random guy in his minivan driving around and asking people if they want rides. I wasn't nervous about this until the two boys got out of the "cab" much sooner than myself. I was somewhat drunk, in a random van with a strange man. Perfect.

Luckily I made it back unharmed to Clarendon and rushed in to AD's apartment, late as usual. Her friend was coming with us and I had never met her. I immediately liked her though as we share the same name and she split her 4loko with me. Just what I needed. I changed quickly into my gold leggings and slapped on some makeup. Then back in a cab to go back to Northeast to club Glow. We were let in quickly and grabbed drinks. The club was fairly empty when we got there but filled up quite quickly. I decided I should run to the bathroom before Benny Benassi went on and my timing couldn't have been worse. When I got back it was packed to the brim and I couldn't place where I had left the girls. I pushed my way to where I thought they were just as Benny went on. I was stuck and couldn't find them. I was trying to resign myself to the fact that I was going to spending the set alone, with the masses of sweaty people, when I spotted AD's friend's sunglasses in the crowd, somehow. I pushed over and was extremely relieved. Now I could appropriately enjoy drunken dancing to an Italian dj. Both girls quickly made friends--they had boys come up to dance with them almost immediately. I, on the other hand, was left alone, most likely because of the shiny gold leggings. Just as I was starting to get pouty about it I felt someone behind me. Aha a new friend for me as well. For the first few minutes I was too scared to turn around to see what I was facing. But when I finally did I was pleasantly surprised--he was actually good-looking. Although for some reason in my drunken state I was convinced he was gay. This did not stop me from making out with him though, no no. Making out while seeing a dj, it was just like my times in Europe. We did chat a little at one point when I had to go get water. He was a couple years younger than me (of course) and worked for the PTO, which we had worked closely with at the law firm and was just up the street. He had also been to Ultra. I decided he was nice (and he didn't threaten to beat me) so I gave him my number. We danced for the rest of the set until AD texted me that they were ready to leave because their feet hurt. As soon as I read it I felt the pain shooting through my feet as well. Wearing heels to dance for four straight hours is not a good idea. I bid farewell to my boyfriend for the night and we headed out. My feet were hurting so badly that at one point I had to take my shoes off to walk. Now I hate when girls do that but you know it was bad when I walked barefoot down a sidewalk in NE DC. We magically found a cab and headed back to Clarendon.

The next day I was once again hungover as hell. I had to wake up at a decent hour though (before noon) because my exboyfriend was finally on his way to fix my computer, then we had lunch plans with our friend Tricky out in Fairfax. Now Ex and I dated for about 2 and a half years during college and also continued hooking up after we split. We had stayed friends and this was why I decided that he was going to be my chosen hookup. I hadn't seen him in quite awhile however and I was unpleasantly surprised when I did. He was kind of weird and I felt like he was judging me for being hungover. He was a bit condescending and seemed to shoot down everything I said. He did fix my computer though, so at least there's that. We then headed to Fairfax, the location of our college, to meet Tricky. She was my roommate for the first two years of college and was now married with a baby. Our lives were completely different but we still managed to remain friends. Lunch was filled with reminiscing and me struggling to eat. Afterwards Ex dipped out, despite his promise to drive me back to the metro, and Tricky and I decided to go check out our old college campus, as it had changed quite a bit since we had left. It was like a completely different place and we even managed to get lost. While gawking at a new building Tricky drove full-speed over a speed bump and practically bottomed out her car which caused us to crack up laughing, just like the old times. She then drove me to the metro. As I was reaching into her backseat for my bag a gust of wind blew up my dress, completely exposing my black undies to everyone waiting. When we had composed ourselves I said my bye and walked into the station with as much dignity as I could muster. I was heading back to the bus to NY. But my visit to DC had been a smashing success.

Long Weekend in Washington Part 1

So Fidel and I had our scavenger hunt finalized and the only thing between me and it was a four hour long Bolt bus ride. It was of course late and I didn't get into Union Station until 11:30. This chopped a valuable hour from our drinking time. I rushed off the bus like a mad woman, basically sprinted through the station and burst outside, my eyes peeled for a cab. I spotted one and rushed over to it, realizing at the last minute I had cut the entire cab line behind me. I felt bad but I had a night to start. Luckily no one said anything and I hopped in a cab for the short ride to Chinatown. Fidel met me at her apartment and while I was speed getting-ready (and also chugging a Smirnoff Ice, hello high school) she informed me that she had arranged for us to start the night with some preliminary bros she knew from law school, who were in an apartment upstairs. Against my better judgment I decided to wear what I refer to as "the dangerous dress". It is pink, short and tight and had recently shrunk in the wash. It has gotten me into trouble in the past and I was slightly worried about where it would take me tonight. But no time to worry as the bros were waiting.
They escorted us to Rocket Bar and promptly ordered a round of Patron shots. These "shots" were as gigantic as the ones OG had ordered the weekend before. Between that, my Smirnoff ice, and a pretzel for dinner I was almost immediately drunk and the Hunt fell apart before it had even begun. For some reason we had a couple approach our group and ask if we wanted to play a round of some bar sportsgame (darts, foose ball, who knows) with us. Fidel agreed but then decided we should go to the next bar so I informed them we had to meet my boyfriend Ted and if I was late he would beat me. We obviously scared them off and were able to make our exit, me yelling something about Ted and what he a dick he is. A real charmer, this one. On the way to the next bar we tried to lose our current bros, as they were holding us back, but they were stubborn. Might as well take advantage. I waltzed up to the bar, ordered us two mixed drinks each and stood there, not moving, until one of the bros reluctantly took out his wallet (who apparently is friends with my SU law guy, ugh). Fidel and I then befriended another pack of bros from New Jersey. Previous bros eventually got the hint and let us be. I had an entire conversation with one of the bros though I don't remember much more than telling him I lived in New York. When he wanted to go dance I sat in the corner sulkily and refused to move. Fidel had buddied up with one whom claimed he was brothers with my bro--I think this was a lie. Nevertheless, we decided to go with them to get late-night Chinese when the bar closed. I was starving and this may have been one of the most delicious meals i have ever eaten. I drank the wonton soup out of the bowl at one point and possibly spilled sesame chicken on my lap. I looked like a disgusting animal but did not care.
While I was occupied with this, my bro started to get pissy with Fidel for some reason. I could see the tension building but kept eating. The breaking point came when he threatened to beat us. Yes, this charmer told us he was going to beat the hell out of us. I faux-whispered to Fidel, loudly enough for both bros to hear, and asked if she wanted to leave. She said yes. I turned to the bros, informed them we were going to the bathroom, then sprang from my seat and ran out of the restuarant, Fidel behind me, both of us screaming. We ran to the corner and stopped. Fidel thought we were safe but I decided we needed to keep going so we ran the 4 blocks back to her apartment, in our dresses, screaming like banshees the whole way. When we arrived we realized we had left them with the bill and promptly cracked up. I realized my phone was vibrating and when I checked it, it was of course beater bro. He had kept calling my phone during our run and I had, honestly, 19 missed calls from him. 19!! Plus a text that read: Hey. AnsWer your fone.
To make up for this, he sent the following text in the morning: Hey my bad on calling u 1400 times and sorry for what I said but I would love to go out with u again or take u to dinner while ur still in DC.
Yes, I think we really hit it off, after he threatened me with domestic violence. Geez.
I was also witness to Fidel's d bag boyfriend acting like an asshole. As some background, they are living together and she recently discovered that he had recently been carrying on a relationship with another (much younger) girl. Fidel was obviously having a hard time with this, despite BF's advice to just "get over it". She hasn't been able to forgive him, understandably, but unfortunately is unable to leave him yet. He apparently was not pleased with our antics from the night before. He was giving Fidel a hard time about hanging out with other guys; in the morning she came out of their room, almost in tears and announced to me that BF was mad at her. I was half-asleep and unaware that he was there so I retorted loudly "How the fuck is that his concern?!". This made for an uncomfortable situation when I saw him later that afternoon.

We decided to head up to her rooftop pool. I was trying to plan my night while also trying to push through my hangover, which was steadily getting worse (I'm sure the hot sun was helpful). I had had the idea before I had left for DC to try and hook it up with an exboyfriend. He was going to fix my broken, POS computer and I figured this could be my in, into his bed. Luckily for me, this did not happen. Instead I ended up hanging out with my friend AD (from Ultra) that night. After spending the day hungover at Fidel's, I trucked to the metro looking like an idiot in another short dress, big gladiotor sandals and my Euro trip trekking backpack. I arrived in Clarendon and AD and I ate gazpacho at our fave place, Le Pain Quotidien. It was delish, despite the fact that our waiter was a dipshit hippie. After we headed out to the Georgetown waterfront, as I had somehow never been when I was living in the area. We met a nice group of Arab young men to purchase our drinks for us. The cute one liked AD, as they always do, but the others were nice, even despite one's atrocious sandals. We chatted for awhile until they decided they were heading to Connecticut Ave. I wasn't interested in leaving with these guys so AD gave the one her number and said maybe we would meet up with them later. As they were preparing for their exit, one guy asked another who had the keys. The prostitute-looking Asian woman next to us overheard this--she bent over, smacked her ass and said while looking at all of us "I've got the keys!". We all paused for a minute in horror before they resumed their conversation and I turned away, taking a swig of my drink.

After the boys left AD and I headed deeper into Gtown. Our destination--Smith Point. The reason--McPoyle. I didn't like either of these things, as I had heard bad things about the bar and really had no desire to see that annoying idiot from Ultra, especially after he rejected my friend request on facebook. We arrived anyway and I (a girl) was made to pay $5 to get in, as I was not on the list. I've made a decision that I would like to punch everyone on that list in the face (excluding AD of course). This bar was filled with the most obnoxious people in DC (who are already pretty damn obnoxious to begin with). A bunch of uglies in pastel polos. I had two seperate guys bump into me then look at me like it was my fault. McPoyle was typical McPoyle, obsessed with AD, yet neither buying us a drink nor introducing us to his friends upon our arrival. Another one of AD's followers showed up soon afterwards--Boring Asian. He had gone to Electric Zoo with us last summer and wasn't exactly the life of the party. Luckily he was a bit better this time--he bought me some drinks and gave me someone to chat with while McPoyle harassed AD. He also hated the bar and wanted to leave as well and when we finally did, he bought us both Five Guys. Points for him. Afterwards AD and I cabbed it back to Clarendon where I promptly passed out. To be continued....

Bro Scavenger Hunt

My first night in DC I was scheduled to visit my friend Fidel. Things weren't going well with her d bag boyfriend and we needed to have a big night out to take her mind off of it. We decided what better way to do so than with a bro scavenger hunt. Now Fidel and I go way back to 7th grade and ever since then we have been classifying people and giving them nicknames. We took it a step farther this time by integrating tasks to perform with points. I will also just say that this hunt fell apart within the first half hour, due to extremely large tequila shots. But we still have the documentation for it and I am very excited to try it out again. This particular one is tailored for bars in DC but can also be tweaked as needed. Here it is:

Bro Scavenger Hunt

The Masshole- Easily spotted by his backwards Red Sox hat, this bro can be found screaming at baseball on tv while pounding a Sam summer. He is from "just outside" of Boston and is doing an internship/relocated to the District. His wicked cool accent gets magically more pronounced as he drinks. After a few drinks, the Masshole's boyish good looks often overpowers his asshole-ish personality, so be careful. They tend to flock to Rhino Bar.

The Southern Preppy Bro- Lilly Pulitzer, Vineyard Vines, Brooks Brothers, Ralph Lauren, Burberry, Lacoste: If you cannot noticably see one of the above logos, then you do not have a true Southern Preppy Bro (SPB). The SPB is easily spotted in a crowded bar due to the bright color of this creature's clothing (generally pink, purple, yellow, floral, etc). The SPB may also be wearing Ray-Bans or Maui Jims inside the bar (or they will be hanging from his stylish croakie). The SPB can be quite the gentleman, but do not be fooled by his chivalrous actions, he is still a bro. Fortunately, the SPB is good for at least a whiskey shot.

The Hill Bro-Not to be confused with the DC Bro, the Hill Bro is his own breed. His distinguishing feature is that although he is in a suit in a bar on a Friday night, he is also ridiculously wasted at an early time (every hour is happy hour when you work on the Hill in the summer). That considered, this bro must be captured early (i.e. by 7:30pm), before he completely blacks out and ends up passed out in his single bedroom in his Capitol Hill Apartment. The Hill Bro is boastful since he obviously works for the most important Senator/Representative and is making such the difference in his grunt job (stuffing envelopes is so important). It is easier to find Hill Bros in the summer, as they come in droves and leave by the end of August.

The Hipster Bro- The Hipster Bro can be found in abundance on H Street (and in Dan's Café). Don't be alarmed if the Hipster Bro's pants are tighter than yours or if his haircut is super edgy and stylish. The downfall of the Hipster Bro is that he is probably too cheap to buy you a drink (not even a PBR) and may be surrounded by scary Hipster girls.

The Law School Bro- "Did I tell you that I am in law school?" The Law School Bro is similar to a puffy bird who likes to stare at himself in the mirror--he loves himself and thinks that he is the f-ing man (because he is in law school, did you know?). Similar to the Hill Bro, the Law School Bro is a raging alcoholic who is still living the college dream (even though he has been out of college for a very long time). The Law School Bro also thinks that he is still 21 and can be found frequenting fine undergrad establishments such as George and Smith Point (because Law School Bro has so much money from his student loans). The Law School Bro is good for a short conversation and probably at least one drink, but steer clear of anything else unless you want to hear him talk about himself all night.

The NYC Bro- The NYC Bro can be found in the District because he will be visiting a friend from college (possibly a Georgetown or Law School Bro). The NYC Bro works in finance and loves (note LOVES) saki bombs. He gets minimal sleep but usually has a great deal of cash with which he will buy you copious amounts of alcohol. He will rave about how the bars in New York are so much better than DC, except the truth is Spring Lounge and Back Fence really aren't that cool. He will live generally in Murray Hill, the Upper East Side or possibly the East Village. He spends his summer at his Hamptons share--you will be invited yet never go. This Bro is slick because he is out of his element and will be on his toes. He is good for lots of free drinks and possibly a dinner (asian fusion or pub food if he is lazy) if you are in NYC but you will never hear from him again if you don't put out. After all, he lives in NYC, which has the best-looking girls in the world. And these Bros like to keep busy!

The Jersey Shore Bro- Although the Jersey Shore Bro can be found in great abundance in places where there are mass amounts of white trash (i.e. Syracuse, New York), the Jersey Shore Bro will sometimes make an appearance in the District. The Jersey Shore Bro will be wearing his sunglasses at night and fist pumping to whatever sweet techno beat the trashy club is playing. The Jersey Shore Bro has a sweet body (earned by protein shakes, muscle milk, and other concoctions from GNC), but may be the color of the oompa loompa. It is not recommended to take a picture next to this bro, as you will look like a ghost (no matter how tan you are) and you probably don't want documentation that you were talking to a male wearing a bedazzled shirt. The Jersey Shore Bro is a sweet talker and will try to pull you too close as he whispers sweet incoherent loving into your ear (careful, you may get blinded by his lovely bling). The Jersey Shore Bro is good for a few shots and at least one mixed drink.

The DC Bro- The DC Bro is the tool in the bar at 1am Friday night/Saturday morning still wearing a suit or blazer. The DC Bro thinks that he is doing such important work and is most likely not that good looking. The DC Bro is predominant once the bars close at establishments such as Jumbo Slice, Julia's Empanadas, Amsterdam Falafel, or Ben's Chili Bowl. The DC Bro is kind of boring and a full monet. He will most likely not buy you a drink (or cheese fries) since he makes $30K in a shiesty job.

The Athlete Bro- The Athlete Bro is ridicuously good looking and travels in packs of other Athlete Bros. The Athlete Bro plays/played soccer, lacrosse, or some other man sport (no football/basketball player thugs) in college. The Athlete Bro will probably be drinking Bud Light while he watches TV at the Bar. Fortunately, the Athlete Bro takes good care of his body and is a fine specimen for a bar makeout.

The State School Bro- This Bro travels in packs, usually with a group of bros that attended the same college as himself. This is usually any Virginia state school (GMU, JMU, and especially VT) but it is also expanded to UMD, Penn State and possibly Umass. These Bros are usually found at the bar after a day playing on their kickball/football/bocce ball league and will not hesitate to pounce (they hunt in packs as well). On days in which they are not participating in organized douche-baggery you can follow the scent trail of Aqua di Gio and spot them sporting a button-up with Adidas sneakers (hello 1999). Once in their circle you will be forced to down multiple jager shots. You will be written about in their chain emails they send amongst themselves and if you are unlucky enough this Bro will recite excerpts from the emails to you the morning after. Can especially be found in Clarendon bars.

The Too Old to be a Bro Bro- This Bro has been living in the district for 5-10 years yet he still frequents bars in Adams Morgan and Georgetown looking for fresh meat (the younger the better). This Bro may fool you--he is well-established, possibly drives a German car and lives alone, but beware--he is still a Bro. His time is running short before he needs to settle down and he is going to make the most of it, especially at his buddies' weddings where no hot bridesmaid will be left alone. If captured by this Bro you will be upgraded to shots of Jamison. You may also notice him scanning the room at all times, even with his arm around you.

The Grad School Bro- The Grad School Bro is not to be confused with the Law School Bro. This Bro's distinguishing feature is his longer, disheveled hair coupled with a mismatched outfit (he may or may not be wearing some form of green khaki pants with a clashing short sleeve button up shirt). Although the Grad School Bro may seem harmless, he is one of the worst. Like a dog in heat humping a tree, the Grad School Bro will attempt to impress you by spouting off his vast amount of intellectual knowledge. Once he thinks that he has captured you, the Grad School Bro will try to play intellectual mind games while feeding you excuses for his flakiness ("I have a 25 page paper on blah blah blah...).

The Foreign Bro- This greasy Bro hails from across the pond. There are three subcategories of this "exotic Bro": 1) the Middle Eastern Bro He reeks of money and cologne. He can be spotted by a Burberry polo shirt and a Louis Vuitton messenger bag. He will also most definitely have a Gucci wallet. He can be found at any expensive club or lounge, at a table with bottles of Grey Goose. His level of drunkeness is slim to none and his stare will bore into you all night. 2) the South American Bro Usually Argentine or Brazilian. This bro will be doing the same as his counterpart, the Middle Eastern Bro, but he will approach you and be relentless. The drinks will flow with these Bros but you will be subjected to wandering hands and possibly made to dance. They are also quite fickle and will be on the lookout for any other pretty girl. Their level on drunkeness is moderate. 3) the Anglo Bro these saucy bros are mosly British and Australian (the most dangerous), but can also be Irish and Scottish. They can be spotted by their soccer or rugby jerseys but can be heard from kilometers away, chanting a fight song and pounding the table. They are charming initially because of their accent but as the night progresses you won't understand a damn word they say. They are only after one thing and will not take no for an answer (do not show any interest or be prepared to fight). They are fully aware of American girls' soft-spot for an accent and will not hesitate to milk this. Their level of drunkeness is through the roof and will drink more than any human being you have ever seen.

Tasks for Scavenger Hunt:

Bro buys the drink (beer/hard alchohol): 1 point

Bro buys shots: 2 points

Bro buys jagerbombs: 3 points

Picture with Bro (only the Bro): 1 point

Picture with a pack of Bros: 2 points

Picture wearing the Bro's sunglasses/hat/scarf/etc: 3 points

Get the Bro's number: 1 point

Get the Bro to fill out Mad Libs: 5 points

Invited to group of Bros' table: 4 points

Know someone that the Bro knows: 3 points

Say something ridic to a Bro yet still get a drink and/or attention: 4 points

Bro compliments you in a nice way, ie "you are pretty": 3 points

Bro compliments you in a Bro-ish way, ie "nice ass": 4 points

Bro puts hand on your waist or his arm around you: 3 points

The Week Before the Storm

The storm being my upcoming week before my trip to DC for Memorial Day weekend. But first some mid-week amusement. One of the girls I interned with now had a job at the museum also. We had had similar roommate issues and had bonded over it. She seemed nice, though very young and with really severe eye makeup, which I secretly wondered how she thought it could look good. After running into each other outside the subway one day we had also exchanged some date stories and decided to go for a drink after work one day. We walked towards Soho and could not decide on a place. I had said that I wanted a place with outdoor seating but of course every place seemed to be full. We wandered for awhile until I finally chose a nice-looking place on a corner. We took a seat outside and then realized why we were able to do so--a glass of wine cost $15. We cringed and since our waitress had not come over yet I asked if we should leave. We debated then finally made our move for it. I was just going to walk quickly yet discreetly away but she took out in an almost full out run right across the street, in full view of the restuarant. I looked on in horror then realized I had left my sweater hanging on the back of the chair. I bee-lined back, grabbed it, then walked as quickly as I could after her. We rounded the corner out of breath and giggling. We kept walking and finally settled on a Carribean-esque place with tables in front of a large open window. It was expensive as well but I liked the atmosphere, despite the obnoxious British couple making out at the bar right in front of me. We chatted over drinks though it was a little awkward at times. She's not much of a partier and I, well am. I always feel a little guilty or embarrassed when I am in these types of situations--obviously going out isn't the only thing I do but it is a good way to relate to people, unless of course they don't. It also makes me feel like I should revaluate my priorities but I should probably get this all out of my system first. Luckily we had the arts in common, though I hadn't been as involved in them as I should have, which also made me feel a bit guilty. It was still a fairly enjoyable time out though and was way better than being in my apartment which was basically a brick oven now that the weather had gotten warmer. And lucky me, my subway car on the way home was officially the smelliest one I have been in. At one point I really thought I was going to puke. Luckily I did not.

The next night I was hanging out with OG and Javier. I was leaving for DC the next day and they would be gone by the time I got back. I met them by the clock tower in Grand Central. When they walked up I cracked up--both were wearing pink; Javier in a pink button up and OG with a pink sweater across his shoulders. They didn't see the humor but still accompanied me to Chipotle so I could house some dinner. We then headed over to Meatpacking. I figured the Standard beer garden would be a good place to take them and they hadn't seen the neighborhood yet. I had never been to meatpacking on a weekday and I don't know if I can brave it again. I don't know if it was the nice weather, but every place was packed and the line for the Standard was around the block. We weren't about to wait and when we couldn't find another place Javier took off by himself to take some pictures. OG and I wandered and eventually came full circle and ended up back at the Highline. This is a raised park that goes along an old railroad line. The last time I had been was in the winter but now it was totally different--greenery everywhere. And also couples. As OG and I strolled we tried to act very hard like we were not on a date like everyone else. We chatted about our time in Germany--our favorite nights out, how he had gotten together with the Swiss girl, and our friend, an American guy who was OG's roommate and the red member of Team USA (the other members being me and Baby J). It was nice after the previous annoyance of lines and waiting to get into places; now we could sit back and enjoy New York again.
Javier joined us and we wandered uptown, eventually into Chelsea. I loved the fact that we were in Chelsea with the two of them wearing pink but they were not so pleased. They wanted to find a place to eat. OG suggested one restaurant. We looked in and saw it was filled with male couples. We kept walking, no one saying anything then all bursting out laughing. We eventually settled on an Italian place, with an outdoor patio. They ate their meal, we chatted more, and I accepted their invitation to visit Mexico City. Done. We took the train up to Times Square and said our goodbyes. Walking away from OG reminded me of the goodbyes in Hamburg. It was extremely sad and I had the same feeling in my chest I would get when parting with people there. It's tough when you are able to be close with someone and then do not know if and when you will ever see them again. In this case I know it is only a matter of when but for some of the others, I know that was it. I have to learn to appreciate these connections for what they were and are and stay confident that the people I really want to see again I will.
I at least had an upcoming epic weekend in Washington to distract me.

Foreigners in Town!

I was having them come back into my life and I was pretty pleased about it. The first round was my French friend who lived with my friend Cardi in Syracuse. She (let's call her Michelle) had stayed for a year rather than a semester like Cardi and was just about to leave to go back to France. Her boyfriend had come over for a visit and they wanted to do some traveling. He had never been to NYC or the US at all so it seemed like an obvious choice.
I had fun with them when they arrived. They were only staying for three days and I would meet them after work in the evenings and work around, get dinner, etc. I liked showing them the city and now I have an official invitation to come to France. I was excited about this already and then they informed me that they have a friend who owns a boat in St. Tropez. I almost went through the roof--this could be the start to my new dreamjob as an International Party Girl! This trip needs to happen and is in the back of my head....

Anyway their last night in town I was going to meet them later. I had plans to meet my other foreign friends in town--my good friend from Mexico City (OG) whom I had studied in Hamburg with. He was one of the first people I met there and we hung out the whole five months, usually with that fucking Frenchy as well because they were good friends. We had had an awesome time though and I hadn't seem him since last summer. When we met it was literally like we picked up right where we left off. OG was with his friend Javier and they were traveling around the US, making a documentary on...porn. No, not making a porno but filming interviews with specialists and randos from the street about porn and how it affects them socially, their views on sex, etc. Here is the trailer: http://www.facebook.com/l/8dabfwMPZyy_OSqUVpaHnp2wJeQ/www.crazylittlething.org/planningdesk
The three of us wandered around the East Village, Javier snapping pictures with his fancy camera, and we finally decided to get some food. The Ukranian place had a nice patio and we sat. There I was, eating pierogies at a Ukranian restaurant in New York City with two Mexicans. Priceless. Afterwards I had to run back to the subway to meet Michelle and her boyfriend. She had been a music major and one of her professors had invited all of us to see a concert at the Scandinavia House (for free, cha-ching). We were by far the youngest people there, not that there were many of us to begin with. The concert was classical music and it was interesting. That is until I heard someone's cell phone ringing close by. I looked around annoyed until I realized--it was mine. I was the asshole whose cell phone was going off!! I was horrified and the woman behind started clucking at me. I shut it off and was unable to concentrate for the rest of the show. I had put the stupid thing on vibrate, how did the alarm still go off?? And to make it worse after the show I realized that the cellist who was playing at the time was the professor's WIFE, uuughh. Despite this he still invited the three of us to get a drink with him, his wife and the other musicians at the hotel bar next door. One of the guys was Swedish, which I was mildly excited about until we realized that he was a weirdo and kind of a dick. I didn't stay long as it was already late and I had to wake up early so I trucked it back on the subway by myself and Michelle and her boyfriend came home later.
They left the next morning and that night OG and Javier were too tired to come out. Luckily GF called me up. One of the French interns at work had invited me to her friend's happy hour earlier that day so we decided to head to that. It was on the Upper East Side and was my first time at a bar there. It was fairly horrifying. Packed to the brim with bros. But drinks were half off and of course GF hit it off with the two French girls. They had a French guy there with them and I get the feeling they were trying to set us up. Unfortunately Fabian (which is what I thought his name was even though it turned out to not be), was 22 and didn't say much. He did at least buy me a drink at the next place we went. A club called Slate which was not my seen at all, though the doorman did call me adorable, which is probably the only reason I went in. Pretty soon it was just GF, Fabian and me as the French intern had gotten as wasted as I have ever seen a continental European girl and had to be escorted home. This is when GF led us on an expedition to Chelsea--he had his eye on Fabian and wanted to see if he was gay. Once we entered the gay bar GF determined that he definitely wasn't and he was all mine. I made a half-hearted attempt but I actually enjoyed chatting with two random queens more about the differences between American and European H&M's. I then made the drunken decision to take a cab back to Astoria from Chelsea which I neeeever do (a sketchy subway ride is def worth saving $30 in my eyes). I also decided that the next day I was going to sleep all day and I didn't get out of bed til 4pm.
When I did I was for some reason craving french fries (to go along with the French theme of the weekend) so went to McDonald's (ew). While there I received a text from GF saying he was going to dinner with the two French girls tonight--I guess they really had hit it off. I agreed to join and also invited OG and Javier. Because they are Mexican and I am me we arrived to dinner on the Lower East Side about an hour late. OG charmed the table with his stories from the documentary while GF and I acted like children--he had decided that the French girls' friend who was with us looked just like Anne Frank and we were trying to out-do each other with very non-PC jokes. We also just about died later that night when we searching for a bar and we could hear sirens close by.
As punishment for this we ended up choosing the worst bar I have ever been to. Seriously. It was filled with ghetto people, including ghetto Koreans (?) and I paid $12 for one beer. After someone almost knocked me over bumping into me I decided we needed to leave stat. I hurried everyone along and we wandered, not sure where to go. GF and Anne left us and the rest of us eventually just wandered into a random bar. OG promptly ordered a round of tequila shots, which turned out to be literal glasses of tequila. It took me 3 swigs to get it down. We all sat at the bar chatting --French intern told us about living in Buenos Aires and I spilled the Frenchy story to her, with the help of OG. This bar was filled with a strange mix of bros and hipsters and at one point one of them grabbed my side as he walked by without saying anything. Probably not the best way to pick someone up.
After this place the girls left us and the boys were pretty well sauced. We headed back to the Back Room which was where we had originally gone after dinner. It was speakeasy I had heard about and wanted to try. When I told the boys what speakeasys (or acording to them, easy speaks or speakin-easy) they were excited to try one. Unfortunately the douche at the door told us no one under 25 was allowed. Wtf. OG bargained with him and he agreed to let us all in for $40. OG wanted to see what it was like before forking over the money so bouncer agreed to let him in for a second. Apparently he went in, grabbed a drink and followed two guys to the super back room. When the bouncer there tried to stop him he told him he was with the guys. There was a private party in the back room and OG was able to blend in for about 5 minutes before someone noticed he was not with the party. After emering from the bar about 15 minutes later, OG informed the bouncer we would not be going in. Except when the three of us went back at 3am we were let in without a problem. We sipped our drinks from our teacups and afterwards Javier walked in on two girls snorting coke in the men's room. We also had an addition to our group--Dennis Reynolds, from Ultra. I had texted him as a last resort when we couldn't find a good bar to go to and he was just joining us, as he lives nearby. He stayed with us though I'm sure he was sketched out walking into this situation--the boys were wasted and rambling about their porn documentary. I loved it. He also accompanied us to the dirtiest McDonalds I have ever been in (yes I went twice in one day, sick). After I took a cab back to Times Square with the Mexicans to catch the subway. En route I received a text from Dennis Reynolds saying I should have just stayed at his place. A little late buddy. I debated it then decided it was just best to go home. I bid the boys goodbye and headed to the N, only to discover that I had lost my weekly subway card (just purchased two days earlier). Dammit. At least the rest of the night was good.

Here we go again....

By the next weekend things were luckily starting to pick up. I had plans and ridic stories were happening, once again. Let's begin:
This particular Thursday night was supposed to be another intern get-together but it really just ended up being JM and me. This was fine with me as the location for this outing was just a few blocks from my apartment--the Beer Garden. The weather was finally starting to get relatively nice and JM had never been. Upon her arrival she informed me that she had met two guys in the past few days and had invited them both. I am always slightly concerned with the mixing of different groups in social settings and became more so when she stated that one guy was Russian and the other only had one hand. This could either go really well or very badly. Once the Russian guy joined us I knew it would be the latter. He was immediately obnoxious--condescending, arrogant and talking only about himself and only to JM. And it didn't look like we were going to be able to get rid of him--he had invited two other friends along who weren't quite as bad but still not people I wanted to be associating with. They made lame jokes and I sat drinking my Czech beer, trying to think of a way out of the situation. One of the other interns had more success--about 5 minutes after showing up she assessed the situation and wisely decided that she had to meet her friend at the "other" beer garden. She was out the door before I knew it. Just the two of us, stuck with these idiots. Original Russian decided they wanted to go to the outside part of the garden and I was hoping they would stay there but shortly after he came back in and told JM that "they were leaving, they weren't having fun". JM gave it her blessing but of course he just stood there, arguing with her for her not wanting him to stay. I listened to this and grew angrier and angrier. I had been sick of this guy from the beginning and now he was being a real dick. I debated what to do in my head and finally just went for it. "Maybe you should just fucking leave. No one wants you here anyway you fucking douchebag! Leave!", were the words that escaped my mouth. I pointed to the door, slammed my fist on the table and yelled this again. I felt bad for making a scene but I figured this was the surest way to get them to go.
Apparently Russians think differently than we do. He did not leave. He pulled up a chair, got too close to me and informed me that he liked Polish girls. He then proceeded to stare at me the rest of the time I sat there. Was this guy for real?? Finally I had had enough. I was going to the bathroom and JM was coming with me. I made sure she brought her purse and we hightailed it out the front door. We ran to the subway, making sure they weren't behind us. She texted her handless friend, who had shown up just in time to witness the chaos. He seemed nice but obviously couldn't get a word in with what went down. He met us and we actually did go to the "other" beer garden to meet the other intern. It was filled with bros and I didn't stay long as it was getting late. I left and back at the subway the machine wouldn't take my money and luckily the guy let me through for free. I must have been flustered by this and somehow got on the train going in the wrong direction so it took me about double the time to get home as it should have.

The next night I headed back to Williamsburg, to Polish Princess's new place. She had moved in with T and things weren't going well at the moment. They had gotten into a blowout right before he had left for a business trip to London. He wasn't responding to her and she was understandably having some anxiety over this. I listened to this while she chopped up fruit for a giant bowl of sangria she was making. She was having some friends over to join later. They certainly livened things up as they were some of the most hilarious girls I've ever met. Two of them were roommates in Bushwick and recounted stories about their terrible neighbors--nonstop reggaeton blasting, the lady downstairs getting drunk and locking herself out of her apartment on a weekly basis, and the chronic masturbator in the building next door. Apparently he would bang on the window when people walked by and go to town when they looked up. One friend had the idea that in retaliation, she should have a tv in her window (facing into his) constantly playing horrible things, such as a horse shitting on another horse (her idea, not mine). Another friend recounted a story from earlier that night when she had accidentally farted loudly in front of her male roommate while he was eating dinner. She said nothing, then asked what he was doing that night. And finally the other friend had the fatbooth app on her phone, which I hadn't seen before, and loved. She took pictures of all of us while humping the air and yelling "I'm gonna make you fat bitch!". We all died at the results; Polish Princess's was the best, because her upper lip had pretty much disappeared. After these shenanigans everyone started to trickle out and I decided to stay over there because why head back to Astoria at that hour?? In the morning we slept late and got crepes for breakfast. I left after that, took a nap at my place, showered and then headed BACK to Williamsburg. We had made the decision to go treat ourselves to dinner at the Argentine steakhouse. Polish Princess was feeling down and this was technically my graduation night, though there was no way I was trucking back to Cuse for the ceremony. It was a deeelish meal but afterwards I was a little nervous--I had eaten an excessive amount and the jeggings I was wearing were a size too small. I had to be very careful when I sat or I would split my jeggings. I kept this in mind on my subway ride to the East Village and stood. I also got hollered at my every disgusting individual on that train car, which was a fanstastic.

I walked to the bar where I was meeting JM for her friend's birthday party. I took my time as she is usually late but by the time I arrived they still had not even left their apartment. I wandered around and started to get worried because my phone was dying. I texted both Ibanker and GF (gay friend) quickly to try and arrange backup plans in case I couldnt meet up with JM. No one was responding and I was close to leaving when both the boys texted back and JM arrived outside the bar simultaneously. Annoyed, I directed GF to the bar and told Ibanker to keep me updated on his night (I was determined to meet up with that fucker because at this point we hadn't seen each other since St. Patrick's Day--2 months ago. This was due to our trips, his being sick and working 18 hour days, seriously, and friends in town. Or these could all be excuses, but I knew it had to happen soon or this would all fall apart).
Anyway GF showed up and immediately hit it off with JM. We stood around chatting and laughing at the wasted guy who broke three different glasses at three different points in the night. Towards the end of our time at this bar it was very crowded and GF and I were having a hard time getting a drink. He pushed me to the front and ordered me to "show some boob". Instead of this I climbed up on chair (carefully, jeggings) and knelt on it so I stood far above everyone else. This tactic failed and GF still got served long before me, god dammit. After this we had had enough and leaving JM behind, hopped in a cab to meet Ibanker at a bar in Meatpacking. Of course there was a line out front and after my bragging to Ibanker that this would not be a problem for us we stood there for about 10 minutes while the bouncer looked past us. Even my skintight jeggings wouldn't do it. What a crock. Finally Ibanker met us outside and said they were heading to a bar in Greenwich. I was vaguely annoyed as we had just crossed town but I pushed that aside as I was happy to see him. He was with one of the Ibankers from the Euro trip and some super European girl I wasn't a huge fan of. This was GF's second time meeting Ibanker--the first was the John Mayer night when GF had been extremely wasted and not so friendly. I think he felt guilty about this; he paid for our cab ride and chatted it up with Ibanker. They ended up hitting it off which was good. The bar of choice was Automatic Slims, the scene of my extreme wastedness the night of the reunion with all the Ibankers. Luckily I kept it a little more together this time--I remembered all the conversations and didn't lose my jacket. At the end of the night Ibanker and I were the only two left from our group so I headed back to Union Square with him (because why go back to Astoria at that hour??). In his apartment he informed me that since he had been working from 7am to 1am most days his room was a mess. He wasn't kidding--the floor was filled with clothes, mostly suits, and every drawer and his dresser was open. While we were sitting and talking his closet exploded-everything on the top shelf tumbled out all at once. I died. We had a good night and I think we were both happy to see each other. He told me that he really liked me, but nothing was established about us, and I'm not sure if I want to bring it up. We also still do not sleep together, which is another thing that I would like to investigate but am a bit nervous to discover the results. For now things can keep going the way they have been and hopefully I won't get my ass kicked. And more good news--I made it through the night without splitting my jeggings!