I’m a Jinius

i am running on three hours of sleep so please forgive the scatter brainedness.

friday
we go to spitzers and nurse betties. i have about twenty beers. at this point i am drunk and really want smoochies but i cant text the bartender because i deleted his number after his drunken incident last sunday. i try to cajole my phone to ring. “caaaaall meeee. caaaaaall meeeee.”

saturday
i go to arrow bar for a friend’s party. my roommate and her friend show up and we decide to bounce and go to another bar. we pass by this italian restaurant that is blasting sean paul. it looks like there’s a private party inside but we decide to crash it. as soon as we walk in some guy just hands us all beers. we dance like crazy and this midget molests my roommate and tries to dance with her. i am not kidding when i say he’s a midget. he was even shorter than me!

we leave and go to pyramid but only stay for one song because as much as i like new wave, i dont really like the people who like new wave.

at this point its like three am and we contemplate having a night cap at this bar near our apartment. we decide to go in. i head into the bathroom. as soon as i come out, my roommate comes up to me and says, “girl, your bartender is here.”

jigga….what?!

“are you sure it’s him?”
“yeah, i recognized his shoes.”

And i spot his top siders. I notice that he’s hanging out with people from his restaurant. my roommate and her friend tell me i should go over and say hello. so i walk over and pinch his waist. he buys me a drink and says, “i was pretty sure i would never hear from you again.” evidently he doesnt remember much from last week. i remind him that he was pretty obliterated. anyway, so we are hanging out and having a good time when the bouncer comes over and tells us it’s last call. except the bouncer was being a real dick about it. the bouncer tells the bartender that he needs to hurry up and leave and my bartender says something along the lines of “fuck off.”

and one things leads to another and before you know it the bartender and the bouncer are fighting eachother on the street. soon there are like twenty dudes on the street trying to break it up. it’s like all the dudes from the bartender’s restaurant squaring off against the dudes that work at the bar.

i dont understand how my night went from dancing to depeche mode to witnessing fight club.

anyway, it gets more dramatic and the bar owner tells the restaurant people that they’re never allowed to come back again. great,  i hope the owner does not think i am associated with them.

so the bartender and i walk away and i tell him that he just can’t pick fights with bouncers who look like they eat small children for breakfast. he doesnt care and seems amused by the whole thing. “did you see me pop him? i knocked him to the ground!” i roll my eyes.

we approach the subway and he says, “well, i guess i should catch my train here.” i don’t say anything. then he says, “this is the part when you say ‘why don’t you come over my place?” “oh, sorry. do you wanna come over?”

so he comes over.

and it’s really nice to wake up on a sunday morning to someone kissing your neck. and it’s also really nice to just stay in bed all day and forget that’s there’s a world outside of your door.

but eventually we both get hungry. “go make me some breakfast,” he says. ummm, yeah, little does he know that i avoid the kitchen as much as possible. we settle on going out for brunch.

after brunch we go to st dymphnas and have drinks outside. and we just chat about everything and nothing. he tells me i have a “clean personality”. is that a euphemism for boring? he laughs and doesn’t say anything. hmmmph. he also says that we have nothing in common. this is truly evident in our literary tastes. i am the type of person that likes jane austen and he prefers bukowski. we also have divergent movie tastes. he leans toward all the christopher guest movies and i like dance movies.

oh, and another thing we don’t have in common is that he loves getting into fist fights. he tells me that he did go through a brief peaceful period but then decided he was tired of it.  apparently he has had the shit kicked out of him by a gang of guys. one time he was on the ground and the last thing he remembers is someone’s foot kicking him in the face. he goes on to say that when you’ve had someone kick you in the face you kinda lose your fear of getting into fights. and that all men need to fight because they’re full of testosterone and rage and competition. i was like dude, you’re not tyler durden.

then we talk about the first time i met him and he remembers that ursy and i were sitting at the end of the bar and drinking nut brown ales. “you remembered our beer?” i am surprised. this is the same guy who doesn’t even remember how he got home last week.

after st. dymphnas we go back to my place to watch a movie. he looks through my dvds and shouts out, “M:i:III”

umm, okay, so the guy who favors bukowkski and henry miller wants to watch the cheesiest action movie of all time?

so we watch mission impossible. i make him sit on the other side of the couch because i wanted to watch juno. “i thought we’d get some major cuddle time.” did those words just come out of mr. fight club’s mouth??

and then we have another sleep over.

swoon.

as he leaves my apartment this morning, i tell him not to get into fights.

“On the subway? It’s inevitable.”

he is belligerent and uncouth and wayward and we have nothing in common. but we sure have a swell time.

im screwed.

So now I have a vague sense of what it’s like to be a single mom.

And now I know why so many rappers have “dear mama” songs. Although rappers’ moms had to take care of their kids for years, working three jobs just so their kids could have health care. My 19 yr old brother and his girlfriend were only in town for a week.

Don’t get me wrong, we all had a great time. But I didn’t realize that young people asked so many questions and had so much energy. By the third day I just wanted to be like, “Mama needs a nap and a whiskey” or “look it up on google!!!!” And this was all directed toward brother jinius. He is the type of person that will ask me subway directions to my apt and then ask me again an hour later and then ask me again the next day. If it were any other person, you just deal with it and give them the info, but for some reason when it is your flesh and blood you just want to knock them on the head.

My brother and I have always had more of a parental relationship. Afterall, we have a nearly ten year age difference. While my parents were at work, I changed his diapers, fed him, and basically ensured he didn’t fall and hit his head too many times. I think I succeeded. Although I may have let him slip here and there.

Wednesday
They arrive on Wednesday. I take them to Esperanto and my friend Dave meets up with us. My brother and his girlfriend try goat cheese for the first time. It’s amazing when you are older you forget how trying new foods can be so amazing and eye opening. They were both like omigod this is so good! It was really cute. And the way they interact with eachother is also very cute. It’s so heartening to see your baby brother act like a real gentleman. He is the type of person that will give his sweater to his girlfriend when she is cold. And give her half his meal. It’s also really disheartening to see such young love in front of your eyes. Dave and I were like, “when did we get so jaded?” I think it happens between the ages of 21-25. When you are taken out of the safety of the campus environment and thrown into the real world. Or maybe your significant other dicks you over senior year and says “I’m going away this summer and I want to sleep with other people.” That could be it.


After dinner we try looking for places that won’t ID. We hop into this hookah bar in the east village and the waitress comes over and asks for our drink orders. My brother orders a screw driver and his girlfriend orders a long island iced tea. They get carded. I was like um, those drinks are a dead give away that you are college freshmen!!!!! You need to order old people drinks like Ketel One and Tonic or Brooklyn Lager. That’s what my friends and I drink!

Thurs
They come by my office and I take them to this Japanese restaurant for lunch. His girlfriend is amazed by the bento boxes. Again, another thing that my jaded ass forgets to appreciate. Later that night we walk around St. Marks and I yell at my brother for trying to buy some, uh, smoking supplies.

Okay, so I’m not exactly the hip sister that will let their little brother do anything. In fact, I almost didn’t let my brother and his girlfriend even sleep in the same room. I eventually let them sleep in my bed but they had to keep the door open while I slept on the couch. Dave was like “but they’re on vacation!” Yeah, not under my roof. By the end of the trip, brother Jinius was calling me mom but it was not in a reverential way.

Friday
Brother Jinius and his girlfriend go to Long Island for the night to stay with my aunt. Freedom! This is what I mean by single mom. While the kids are away, mommy can play! So I go to Brooklyn and meet up with Sabbie and co. for bbq at the smoked joint. Afterwards, I head to Williamsburg for Emi’s party. This is where I meet the hot guy named Peter. It is one of those instances when I am standing by the door and immediately notice him walk in and it’s like HUMMANA HUMMANA.

He is tall, with dark, floppy hair, and black framed glasses. Yeah, a total Brooklyn boy. I must have been making a face because he says to me, “Why are you making that face?” Ummm, this is my “which beer should I drink?” face. Anyway, I end up latching onto him like a kodiak bear on a salmon for the rest of the night. It turns out he is from Florida so of course I am like omigod I’m also from Florida! What a small world! He is also half Asian and half Latin. And I’m like omigod I’m also Asian! But whole! Okay, I’m going to stop talking in exclamation points!

So the end of the night approaches and he’s like “Well, I’m gonna go, it was nice meeting you.”

And that is it.

I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me, I think you forgot to ask for my number.”

But I thought that would have been too presumptuous.

The next night I ask Dave and Vid what could have gone wrong. I think of these options:

a) he wasn’t interested
b) he’s gay
c) he has a girlfriend
d) he has no game

We conclude that it’s probably all of the above.

Saturday

Brother Jinius and his girlfriend come back. We walk around the West Village and Soho and have lunch at Soho Park Cafe. My bro and his girlfriend order food and I order a Hoegarden. Sometimes nothing quenches your thirst more than an ice cold beer. Some people would argue that perhaps water is more likely to quench your thirst but those are also the same people who have healthy livers. My liver probably resembles Ted Kennedy’s.

For dinner, I make this dish that Vidya and I concocted a couple of years ago. It is so effin’ good! If you ever want to impress company but don’t really feel like cooking then make this dish. Basically, it’s linguine with shrimp, mushrooms, and onions in vodka sauce. It is the hotness right there.

Dave and Vidya come over for dinner and we are amazed at how drinking Brooklyn Lager out of a glass makes such a big difference in taste. Yeah, we are constantly expanding our palates and our minds here at the jinius blog. We also spend the greater part of the evening listening to Ludacris’s “Southern Hospitality.”

I am sure my brother and his girlfriend must have thought we were so cool as we kept chanting, “Pretty ass clothes/pretty ass toes/Oh how I love these pretty ass hoes”.

So then toward the end of the night I get a text and of course, OF COURSE, it is from hot bartender. Oh, except he has officially been demoted from hot bartender to just the bartender. I’ll explain why later.

It is a universal law of booty that your person of interest will only contact you at a time when it is least convenient for you.

Anyway, my bro and his girlfriend are asleep so Dave, V, and I meet up with the bartender at this bar nearby. He looks like he has been drinking for five hours straight. He says, “I forgot how cute you are, you should have warned me.”

Ugh, it is so pathetic but I clearly suffer from Justin Bobby syndrome. If you guys don’t watch The Hills (which I’m sure is like all of you) then you won’t get the reference but basically it involves being attracted to a guy despite the fact that he is a total fuck up and lewd and crass and his only saving grace is telling you semi sweet compliments here and there. Maybe it’s because I spent my high school years going to a performing arts school and only crushing on closeted theater boys but I never went through my “bad boy” phase and now I’m making up for it…at 28.

So the bartender wants to come over but i tell him that he’ll have to sleep on the couch and that we can’t hookup. He agrees. So we go back to the apt and pass out. I eventually move to the other couch because he is literally passed out on top of me and I can’t breathe.

Sunday

Oh, and remember when I said that I shouldn’t eat indian food before going on a date? Well, now we can add linguine with vodka sauce as a pariah. My indigestion (euphemism for really bad gas) was so intense that I decided to leave the apartment at 8 in the morning and relieve myself outside. Except my dumb ass forgot to bring my keys so I was locked out of my building for a good fifteen minutes. I ring the intercom and my bro lets me in. The bartender was like where did you go? I make up some lie about buying coconut water and forgetting my keys.

My bro and his girlfriend leave to walk around so the bartender and I use the opportunity to pretend we’re in highschool. Aka fool around while the folks are away. Ugh, he may be crazy but the physical chemistry is also insane. As my friend Sarah pointed out, it’s like that old nymag article that talks about why men are attracted to crazy women. It’s hard to walk away when crazy comes wrapped in a beautiful package. Not that bartender is adonis but there is something about his craziness that I find hopelessly appealing. Ugh, call it the Babyshambles/Pete Doherty syndrome. You think you can lift them from being at rockbottom.

So the bartender leaves to go to work. My brother comes back and tells me he thinks bartender looks like a douche bag. I ask him why he thinks he looks like a douche bag. He tells me he doesn’t like his beard.

Later on, bartender and i text and I make plans to meet up with him after his shift. He tells me to come by his restaurant because they just bought a bottle of wine and they are drinking outside. So Sabbie comes over and we go to the restaurant together. We show up. Evidently, the bartender has been drinking mimosas from 10 in the morning. It is now around 5 pm.

So at this point he is in complete babyshambles mode. He is slurring. His eyes are crossed. He knocks over glasses of beer. At one point, he just walks away from the table and talks to some servers and I’m like “why the hell am i here?”

But then this is the point that pissed me off.

He says to me, in front of the other servers of the restaurant, “How’s your gay brother?”

Jigga what?

i was so pissed off that he said that not only to me but in front of his co-workers and friends who i dont even know. it was just embarrassing. i mean, that’s like making a your mama joke. No one is allowed to call my brother gay except for me.

That’s when I had it and Sabbie and I leave shortly after. We tell him that we’re leaving but I don’t think it registers. He is so obliterated that I doubt he could even register an 8.0 earthquake if it him.

So Sabbie and I go to caracas and have a lovely dinner of arepas and beers. The perfect ending to a Sunday evening.

On monday morning I get a text from the bartender “Not sure what happened to you yesterday. Or me. Yikes.”

I was going to text back. But didn’t know what to say. The scorpio in me wanted to respond with something vicious. But the Babyshambles in me just felt sorry for him. He is a wreck. And even if i did say something like ‘i left because you called my brother gay, delete my number” he probably wouldn’t even get it. I decide not to respond and to just erase him from my memory.

Isn’t it funny how a crush can go from so sweet and innocent to just disastrous?

Oh, and how appropriate that I read this today: Depressed Dudes More Likely to Drown Sorrows in Drink

I’m starting to recycle old blog titles from 2005. It’s nice to know that my life hasn’t changed in three years.

Lets see, I ran for three miles yesterday, did not drink very much water, then met up with friends for drinks and had about twenty beers so this will be an inchoate post. I’m grateful that i can even keep my eyes open let alone string together sentences.

Friday

Met up with V for drinks before the jay-z/mary j concert. Had a really good conversation about relationships, dating–you know, stuff women never talk about–and she basically told me that I have to be more open and less cold. And that I should just talk to guys the same way I talk to my girlfriends instead of rolling my eyes at them.

It’s not that I’m rude to guys. I just don’t like people!

I guess if you’re open to being in a relationship then you have to be open to people. Keep your heart open and your legs closed! Ha.

I need new writers.

But i also think that if it’s the right person then you won’t have to work so hard at being open and it will just happen naturally. And if this person were, lets say, hot bartender, then I would be very willing to be open minded!!!!

Anyway, the concert was off the hook. Recordings do not do justice to MJB’s voice. She has the voice of a hundred person gospel choir. Talk about presence. And Hova was awesome. He even played my track…Jigga what? Oh, and Beyonce made an appearance on stage. She basically strutted on stage and shook her ass and left. Hot tranny mess.

After the concert I met up with my friend Meghan who is visiting from out of town. Meghan is one of those people who just knows everything about everything. Sometimes if I need to get some info on something I don’t even google it, I just call Meghan. She can talk about everything from the problems of secularism in France to the growing popularity of Li’l Wayne.

Saturday

I forced my ass out of bed and went for a run.

I really hate saying this and I know that as a seven sister alum I should be espousing feminist ideals and preaching positive body image messages, but as Lisa Simpson said, “That’s something a fat girl would say!” But it’s so hard to come to terms with the fact that as you get older you just can’t metabolize all the foot long meatball subs like you used to!

When I was younger, I had the metabolism of a cheetah. Now I have the metabolism of an elephant. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but it’s really depressing when you realize you have to start watching what you eat. My problem is that I watch what I eat and then end up eating what I was watching.

Anyhoo, obviously my vanity did not deter me from eating and drinking the rest of the weekend.

Later, Meghan and Nicole and I went to Spitzers for drinks, then met up with Liz and Elissa at Le Pere Pinard for wine and cheese, and ended the night at Pink Pony for dinner. My girl friends are so amazing because not only are they hot and hilarious but they’re also fucking brilliant. If I weren’t so hungover I would expound on how they are a great embodiment of what the feminist movement strives for but…I don’t have anymore braincells. All I can say is that I hope my unborn daughters grow up to be just like them.

And I also realized that at the end of the day, anyone can have flat abs if they tried really hard. But not everyone can be brilliant.

Let’s give it up for brains y’all.

Biggest muscle.


Sunday
Went for a run. Because as much as I respect brains I also like wearing t-shirts as dresses.

Met up with Sarah for margaritas at La Palapa where I deemed my margaritas not strong enough!

Later Sabbie and Allstadt showed up and we strolled over to St. Dymphnas for curry fries and beer.

Why is Guinness so good?

Okay, speaking of hot, hilarious, brilliant girlfriends, I have to end this post with an email I got from Vidya. I literally laughed so hard that I snorted.

So can I just ask you wtf is wrong with people in nyc. This morning there was a guy on the subway cutting his nails on the train. How DISGUSTING is that??? Then when I got off the train and was exiting the station, I had to go through those revolving door/turnstile things – not the regular turnstiles. And you know how everyone knows that only one person is supposed to go through that at a time right? I get in there and realized it wasn’t moving forward even though I was pushing and I look over my right shoulder and some bitch has jumped in there with me!!!! She is literally pressed up against me and she’s like – omg I’m so sorry I don’t know what I was thinking. I was like – bitch get off my back!!!! Like who does that???? I swear – sometimes I feel like I’ve had enough of the human race.

That’s right. I’m going to the Jay-Z/Mary-J concert tonight.The Messiah of Hip Hop (as he modestly anointed himself) and the Queen of Hip Hop Soul are performing on the same stage. If I knew anything about religion then I imagine this is like the street equivalent of the second coming. This shit is gonna be empanadas!

So in honor of tonight’s concert I give you the Jay-Z and Amil track that spawned the catchiest retort in hip hop.

I once told my ex boyfriend that I was acting crazy because I was on my period and he replied, “Well, then you must always be on your period.”

And I know that the pms/period/or anything in the not so fresh family seems like a dubious excuse to justify irrational behavior but trust me when I say that you would be feeling pretty cranky too if you were so bloated that you felt like the Hindenberg and that you were feeling even hornier than normal but you can’t do anything because you’re on the rag and the only person you could reasonably booty call is not even available because he works in the evenings and only sends one word texts that you don’t understand and SO BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY I AM NOT USUALLY THIS CRAZY AND THAT I AM JUST VERY VERY SENSITIVE AND I AM A DELICATE FLOWER!!!!!!

Did I also mention that I’ve been like the only person in the office all week because I have to take care of all these projects?

WHY MUST I BE SO IMPORTANT??????

Relax. Relate. Release.

So, yeah, you could say I’ve been feeling a little…unhinged.

And on top of that I was feeling excluded from this particular circle of friends and I won’t go into the details because sometimes I forget that my private blog is actually very public because I have a huge mouth and tell everyone about it–anyway, I felt like I was in an episode of The Hills and that I was Heidi–HEIDI–and you would feel bad too because who wants to be the Heidi character???

And I wasn’t going to go out tonite because I wanted to avoid feeling excluded. But then I was like–wait–why am I letting this dictate my social life? I am too cute to be stuck at home on a Friday night and watching repeats of LOST!!!

Sometimes the only person who will rescue you out of your own depression is you.

So things are looking up.

And last night I was at home, doing some more work, when I saw that I had a text from my friend Binnie. She wrote, “Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and I miss you.”

And that just meant so much to me, you know? Here was this person who doesn’t even live in the same city as me and doesn’t even know what’s been going on and she just texted me out of the blue.

It’s nice to know that people think about you.

Sometimes I think that our existence is predicated on the belief that other people remember you exist.

And then my friend Henri called shortly after and asked if I wanted to meet him for drinks.

So I met up with him at this great wine bar in the lower east side– The Ten Bells. It’s by the same people who own Le Pere Pinard so just like it’s sibling it’s very laid back and convivial. Say hello to Fifi at the bar!

And it was a great spring night. Doors and windows were open. We looked out onto the lower east side. Indulged in aged goat cheese and many glasses of velvety red wine.

In life, there will always be people who don’t think fondly of you. Who don’t want to be in the same room as you. Who want nothing to do with you.

And you have to accept that.

But there will also be people who care about you no matter what. Who think of you even though there are miles away. Who agree with you when you say, “He can suck a fat one.”

Life is short. Playas can exit to the left. All my ryde or die bitches can stay to my right.

So all the haters betta Watch Out Now.

Get money, get money.

Last night I attended my first burger club meeting. I even created my burger club nom de guerre: Burgerlicious. Because everything sounds better with -licious attached at the end. Fergalicious. Bagelicious. Syphilliscious.

My friends started this club to find the best burger in New York City. It’s also just an excuse for us to unabashedly eat some juicy meat and wash it down with beer…or Jameson.

I am supposed to meet the club at Wollensky’s Grill at 8 PM but I have some time to kill so I meet up with Sarah and Chelsea at Dos Caminos. I am sure that margaritas and guacamole are a great way to stimulate the palate. Hmmm, maybe I’ll start my own margarita club. The quest to find the city’s most formidable margarita! Ooh, maybe the inaugural meeting will be on Cinco de Mayo!

Genius.

After Dos Caminos, I stroll into Wollensky’s Grill. Henri introduces me to the other diners and I kinda lose track of their names and he accuses me of being drunk but really it’s because all white people’s names start sounding the same after a while and I get confused. Or maybe it was the tequila on the rocks. Drats!

So all fifteen of us order the Wollensky burger. Oh, except one girl. She orders the chicken. The burger club members give her a lot of flack since they are fervent followers of the burger and after all, that is the name of the club. But I have to admit the chicken looked kinda juicy Mmmmm meeeaaaat.

Matt and Todd and I are the first to finish our burgers. We hi-five. You think this is a game biatch?!?! This is burger club !!!

Matt says he should be intimidated since I am half his size and can eat the same amount of food in the same amount of time. Yes, be afraid. Be very afraid. And when I get my first angioplasty at the age of thirty I will be muahahahahahaha-ing all the way to the hospital. (more…)

Friday

Before going to Nurse Bettie for Meredith’s birthday, I meet up with Emi at Paladar for some pre-party margaritas. I don’t want to have a crazy night because it’s supposed to be nice on Saturday so I order tequila on the rocks with lime juice and a vampiro which is just straight up tequila with hibiscus juice. This is my idea of “taking it easy”.

These two guys sitting behind us look like extras in a Fat Joe video and decide to give us each a rose. Like it’s The Bachelor. We decide to give these roses to our friend Meredith because everyone likes receiving hand me down roses on their birthday. (more…)

That’s what some people have been asking this week.

Answer: Sleep, stress, and sugar.

I have completely broken out. I didn’t know you could still break out at the age of twenty-eight but my friend Emi said that it’s possible to get adult onset acne. Oh, it has set in alright. It has colonized the entire left side of my face.

My work events are finally over. But they have left an indelible mark on my skin. I guess the lack of sleep and the over consumption of donuts, bagels, and high fructose corn syrup to keep me awake have incited an over production of oil glands.

But I shall prevail! I shall not let adult onset acne control my self esteem!

But, seriously, will this shit clear up by tonight? I have a party to go to.

You have no idea how excited I am that all my work stuff is over. But I learned alot of lessons. I learned it is unwise to run from event to event in precarious heels and that you should always carry a stack of bandaids in your purse. I also learned that if you’re starving but in a real time crunch you should just grab a kebob from one of those street vendors. That way you can run and eat at the same time. Genius!

And the highlight of the week was meeting this individual. Unfortunately it was at the end of the evening and I was drinking red wine like water. Not so genius.

(Title courtesy of Miss Sarah)

Saturday

Since we’re all at the office on Saturday, my boss is nice enough to take us all out to lunch. We go out for Korean food in K-town where I eat my weight in kimchee and champong. I’m too tired right now to describe it but basically–it’s SPICY.

Its not news that I have digestion issues. I should assiduously avoid spicy food, dairy, and alcohol for the well being of my stomach but then I wouldn’t be able to eat anything! I usually have to pay for it in the end. Literally.

I make plans to meet up with Sarah for cocktails at The Back Room–an establishment that strives for a “speak easy” vibe by serving you $13 cocktails in tea cups. I like authenticity and all but I also like my cocktails in a proper glass.

I hail a cab and as soon as I get in I feel a rumble in my stomach. Actually, not a rumble but more like a fucking riot with villagers plunging pitchforks into my sides. I do some yogic breathing and fervently pray to god to stop the pain, but that spicy food is battling with my intestines. I show up to the bar and promptly go to the restroom. Except I can’t relax because there are girls in there reapplying gloss. Tangent: You can always tell a girl is new to Manhattan by the amount of time that goes into her make up and her outfit. Newbies wear dresses from Intermix. I wear spandex from American Apparel.

I leave the bathroom and ask Sarah if maybe I could use her brother’s bathroom because he lives in the area. Mind you, her brother was also my date to my high school prom. I’m sure I could have taken our intimacy to another level by coming over to his apartment and destroying his plumbing.

But Prom Date is asleep and I am having difficulty standing straight. I notice that there are actually some cute guys at the bar but I figure it’s probably not a good idea to mack it when you’re bending over in pain. I apologize to Sarah and flee. I get in a cab and implore the cab driver to go as fast as he can. He must’ve thought I was sick from drinking too much but I was not. For once.

I arrive at my apartment and just throw my purse on the floor and run to the bathroom.

I suppose I’ve given too much information on the intricacies of my bowels but… we’re friends right??? Unless you’re creepy. In that case, lets stay anonymous strangers who divulge intimate details of our private lives!

Sunday

I meet up with Sarah and Chelsea at La Palapa. They have this insane happy hour on Sundays from like 5-7. Margaritas are $4.50 and bar food is $2.95. Recession what?

The host is a chatty cathy and interrupts our conversation. I am annoyed. Hello, I have important things to discuss! Like the Real Housewives of New York!

In one episode, one of the “real housewives” orders a skinny margarita. It’s basically tequila on the rocks with a splash of lime juice. I have two. They should change the name to a skinny, drunk margarita.

Sarah leaves to go to this film screening and Chelsea and I drink some more and have guacamole with chips and spicy salsa and queso fundido with jalapenos and onions. Digestion issues what?

Afterwards, we meet up with Sarah at The Bitter End to ostensibly see some band play but really we go because there is open bar. Chelsea and I roll up to the Bitter End and declare that the line is too long so we sneak into Peculiar Pub to have beer until the line dies. Genius!

Sarah tells us to hurry up inside so Chelsea manages to smuggle her FULL PINT GLASS in her bag and I chug my beer in about two seconds. Geniusosity!

We wait in line and Sarah sends me a text that this guy I went out with a couple of times is randomly there and you know me, I am full of propriety after consuming three alcoholic beverages in the span of thirty minutes. No, really, it was fine. I can be a nice person! Sometimes!

Sarah’s friend was there and he smuggled in a bottle of fucking Veuve so we are poppin bubbly in plastic cups because we are classy like that.

So we see two bands play.

Did I tell you that I think I hate live music? Well, not all live music. I like live music when I am allowed to get up and dance around. I don’t like live music if I am forced to sit and be quiet.

We leave the Bitter End and go back to Peculiar Pub because clearly I have forgotten that I actually work on Mondays.

Then I stop into Artichoke and get a slice of pizza because NY Mag gave it such a great review that you’d think they wanted this pizza to be their new left testicle.

I try it.

It is good. But not new left testicle good.

While I was walking home, I started thinking about exes and how there are people who can’t be friends with their exes and those who can. I manage to stay friends with most of the guys I’ve dated as long as they weren’t total fucktards. And I think it’s because when I see them I have absolutely no feeling. Its so odd to me that you can be so unattached to someone you used to be in love with or heartbroken over. I think it’s because when you are in love or hearthbroken over someone they are like an object that you imbue all these feelings for. You say things like “Omigod he was so amazing; I will never meet anyone so amazing.” Or “I hate him! He’s an asshole!”

And then one day you don’t feel anything.

And you see them and think, Oh, he’s just this dude. This vessel. He could be anything or anyone. His existence is completely contingent on your feelings for him. And if you don’t have any feelings, then he doesn’t exist.

I am tired today.

I am at work today. Let me point out that it is Saturday and gorgeous out. My co-worker brought in a box of beard papa’s and had just enough so that everyone on our floor could have only one. After I ate mine I went into the fridge and took another one. That was my way of telling the office, “This is what you get for fucking with my weekend.”

Beard papas are so delicious and almost worth a journey to the office on a Saturday. The Beard Papa’s website describes itself as “World’s best cream puffs”. I think that is an understatement.

I don’t know what it is but lately I’ve had the most urgent sugar cravings. The other day I went to Subway and had an oatmeal cookie, a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie, and a dark chocolate macadamia nut cookie. And then yesterday I had a donut, another oatmeal cookie, and downed a fruit juice. I’m like children of the corn syrup. I wonder if all these sugar cravings is a sign that maybe I’m pregnant??? That would be hilarious. My baby would be half Asian/half hot bartender and !00% alcoholic.

I hope that hot bartender never finds my blog.

In other news, Nerve.com emailed me and said they fixed my gender. Glad to know that I’m still considered a woman. I perused the site last night and tried to ignore the fact that I was at home on a Friday night, drinking a glass of red wine, and looking at personals. At least I wasn’t watching WE’s Cinematherapy.

But looking through the personals was kinda like a horror movie in itself because I instantly recognized one dude I dated via Match.com. Ugh, the online dating world is too small! This was the guy who had very deceptive photographs in his profile and turned out to be much heavier in real life. Not that I care about those things. I mean, when I make jokes about the morbidly obese of course I’m not referring to people I am dating! Anyway, this dude is using THE SAME PHOTO from his match profile. And mind you I met him on Match a year ago. I want to email him and be like “Please use a photo from this century.”

Anyway, all the red wine fueled my curiosity and wonder so I clicked on his profile. He says that people tell him he looks like Robbie Williams. It’s almost as if he is taunting me to make a fat joke.

I am so mean. I’m horrible. Who am I to judge? But at least I don’t post photos of myself from 1994.