There are two things I’ve always wanted to do:

1. Splash a drink in a man’s face
2. Tell someone that I’m already spoken for.

I watched Moonstruck the other night (best rom-com ever) and there’s a scene where this woman is on a date with the actor who plays the dad on Frasier and she splashes a drink in his face. I love that scene. No one throws drinks in people’s faces anymore. It’s a lost art. Like letter writing.

And I’ve always liked the term “spoken for”. It sounds so much classier than “I’m in a monogamous relationship.”

Well, this past weekend I lost my chance to splash a drink in someone’s face. And I also realized that I really need to start dating again. If only for the sake of my already diminished liver and reputation.

On Friday, I went out with a friend to this bar Three Steps where this med student would not stop hitting on my friend. I mean, we were doing our best to do the “I’m ignoring you but trying to be polite about it” act but he was like a bad case of dandruff. He just wouldn’t go away. Then we went to Vig 27 where it was one big collared shirt sausage fest. There were so many guys worthy of having drinks splashed in their faces. I ended the night at Muzzarella pizza ’cause that’s how I like to end my Friday nights: eating a slice of pizza whilst watching old episodes of 30 Rock on my computer.

I didn’t think I was that drunk but the next morning I was inspecting my dress from the night before and there were marinara stains all over it. By looking at my dress you would think that I had never eaten pizza before. Or that I like to eat with my elbows.

Later that day I meet up with Ursy for brunch at Bar Marche. They have the best steak sandwiches and garlic fries. The service, however, is not so hot. We waited in the front of the house for someone to acknowledge our presence. A hostess, a waitress, a bus boy…anyone who looked like they worked there. I watch enough Top Chef to know that this is just unacceptable. Tom Colicchio would not approve! Finally I approached a waitress and asked, “Excuse me, how do we get a table here?”

She told us a table would open soon since a couple was paying the check. We told her we’d be waiting at the bar. Five minutes pass. We notice that the waitress seats these two women who come in after us. We tell the waitress that we were waiting before that other couple. She apologizes and says she couldn’t find us. (The restaurant is about the size of my living room.) No matter. I was too hungry to bust anyone’s skulls.

After brunch I come home and watch about five episodes of the first season of 30 Rock and then listen to the Crank Yankers uncensored album. I was actually really content spending my Saturday evening like a 19 year old frat boy but I thought that maybe I should be a little more social so I go to my friend’s birthday party at Cafe Deville.

I wasn’t expecting to have a big bender because I had made plans to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge with Ursy on Sunday. But one glass of wine turned into three mojitos and before you know it I wake up on Sunday morning in the same outfit from the night before.

The bad thing is I have no recollection of how I got home. I don’t remember if I took a cab or walked. It is truly a wonder that I am not passed out in a back alley somewhere.

I tried to retrace my steps. I check my computer’s internet history to make sure I didn’t send any embarrassing drunk emails. I notice that the last site I checked was the home page of the state of Connecticut.

I go to my kitchen and there is a container of hummus on the kitchen counter. It is empty. I also notice a box of melba toasts on the ground. It is empty. And then I see an opened box of crackers. It is half empty.

I meet up with Ursy to do our Brooklyn Bridge walk. I tell myself that no matter how hungover I feel I can not throw myself off the bridge.

But it is a beautiful day. Sun shining. Cool breeze. Nothing like a brisk walk to knock a hangover out of your system. We walk around Dumbo and then take a train to Park Slope and brunch at Rose Water Restaurant.

And then we walked around Prospect Park and made fun of a man doing karate in the middle of the lawn.

So all in all it was a pretty entertaining weekend. If by entertaining you mean blacking out and not remembering who you are. I suppose I need to start settling down. Some people seek a relationship for companionship. I need one so I don’t end up with a glass eye.