(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.