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.

Stroll into Nurse Bettie. Share some cigarettes outside with Balint and Chris. We get into a conversation about running and I tell Balint that I can run three miles in like 40 minutes. He says, “40 minutes? Are you walking the whole time?” Apparently Balint and Chris can run a mile in like six minutes. The only thing I can do in under six minutes is eat a seven course meal.

So I am not the fastest runner. I vow to increase my speed and my distance. I proclaim this while smoking my third cigarette.

We go back inside and I teach Scott how to do the shoulder dance because I think the shoulder is the most underrated body part when it comes to dancing. I see so many white dudes just flailing their upper bodies and they would look much more coordinated if they just isolated one body part. So the key to doing the shoulder dance is just moving them up and down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Now once you get the hang of it you can start doing the Harlem Shake.

I leave Nurse Bettie and go on a Homeric trek for a slice of pizza. I walk over three avenues, in heels, for a slice of pizza. Who does that at 3 in the morning? Oh, me. I finally find a pizza place that is open. This is the same pizza place I went to and paid in change because I didn’t have anything else on me. I was trying to make a dolla out of fifteen cents. Literally.

Saturday

I pump myself up for a good run. It is gorgeous out and I decide I will run to the Brooklyn Bridge and back without stopping! No walking allowed. I make a running playlist. I like my runs to have a strong narrative. A journey. The hero (in this case, moi) must accomplish this Herculean feat of running for a good thirty minutes without puking her guts out.

I usually like to start off with really depressing songs like Cyndi Lauper’s “When you were mine” because who doesn’t like to cry while running at the same time? I also add Mariah Carey’s “Breakdown” because I like any song with a Bone Thugs accompaniment. And then the depressing songs transition into the sassy stuff like “You can’t handle this jellay” or “You like this and you know it.” Apparently my jogging narrative resembles a Terry McMillan novel.

I start running and it is good. I feel good. Except about five minutes into it my nose starts running. I mean, snot just streaming down my face. This always happens to me when I run. I need to carry a box of Kleenex. I start wiping my nose on my sleeve and try to ignore the looks of disgust from other joggers.

After about twenty minutes I am really regretting the 3 A.M pizza and the multitude of cigarettes and the pints of Hoegardens. It’s amazing how nicotine and booze can really impede your performance! I try not to give up because in the distance I can see the Brooklyn Bridge. Just keep running, Jinius. Focus! Oh, is that a hot guy running next to me? Hellooooo, hot guy. HOT GUUUUUY! HOT GUUUUUUY!

Focus, Jinius!

So I run toward the bridge but, wait…what is that I see in the distance?

ANOTHER BRIDGE????

Jigga…WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!

I forget that the Brooklyn Bridge comes AFTER the Manhattan Bridge.

So I keep running.

And I make it.

Now I just have to run BACK. So I take a ten minute pause because, hello, didn’t I just tell you I was smoking and drinking till 3 in the morning on Friday???

During my break, I notice all these Chinese fishermen trying to catch some fish in the East River. They are wasting their time. They have a better chance of catching a dead body than fresh fish.

I finish my run and walk home. And on my way home I run into the 25 year old with the texting problem! Actually I don’t “run into” him, that implies I actually stopped and said hello. Instead, I pretend I don’t see him and keep walking. I would have said hi but in my fantasies when I am running into dudes I’ve gone out with, I am usually not wearing spandex.

He looks really cute though. Why didn’t things work out with him? Oh, yeah, I told him he had text-icular cancer. It’s amazing how introducing the word “cancer” into a casual discourse can really kill all communication..

Moving on…

I get ready to meet Sarah at Loreley. I decide to wear my black booty shorts and heels because after a good run I always want to dress like a trollop. I pair the shorts with a mens shirt and a blazer because I am a conservative trollop!

I walk outside. I forget that after months of bundling up in coats and scarves, men in New York get super excited at the sight of uncovered flesh. One guy leans out of his car window and says, “I love your legs.” Yes, ladies, booty shorts and heels have the power to stop traffic! Usually I don’t like to be the recipient of annoying cat calls but now that I’m approaching 30, I’m like, bring it on! I think the best compliment I received that night was “I like that you’re keeping it sexy but conservative.” Thank you, kind sir! My mother would be so proud of her conservative trollop!

So I walk into Loreley.

And I run into the dude I ran into last weekend. He is there with a group of friends.

We all end up having drinks together.

The dude ends up leaving for karaoke. Sarah and I stay and talk about one of the girls who was with his party. She was a very pretty blonde. Super skinny with long legs and abs you could use as a cutting board. And she was very sweet. Obviously, I hated her.

She was 21 and new to the city. And you could tell just by the way she carried herself that she was very green and very unsure of herself. Even though she was very pretty she kept readjusting her hair and slumped her shoulders. Meanwhile me and Sarah are sitting like we own the place.

I guess that’s the good thing about getting older. Okay, I’m only 28 and still dealing with certain insecurities but I feel much more comfortable in my skin now than I ever did when I was 21. I don’t think I would’ve had the guts to wear booty shorts and heels in college even though my body was alot more toned and I could have pulled it off alot better. It’s funny. I wish I knew then what I know now. And that is to stop giving a shit. In college, I was so self conscious and worried how dudes perceived me. Now I tell people they have texticular cancer.

We head to the Back room and then to Nurse Bettie for a night cap. Except my idea of a night cap is a pint of Guiness. Tastes like milk shake!

We share a cab home and I feel my phone vibrating. TEXT!

It is from hot bartender.

HOT BARTENDER JUST TEXTED ME! HOT BARTENDER JUST TEXTED ME!

Not that I am excited.

I text him back.

He doesn’t respond.

I convince myself that maybe the Verizon tower is out of service. Or maybe my text is circulating in some texting black hole.

Then I pass out.


Sunday

I wake up and do something very un-Jinius of me. I text the hot bartender again and ask him out. Don’t know how that will pan out. But I am not deleting his number. Not now anyway.

That evening we go to Liz’s house in Long Island for Passover. I bring Kosher wine because I thought that’s what you do for Passover but I forget that Liz’s family does not discriminate when it comes to wine.

In fact, her father starts off the dinner by announcing that it is our Passover obligation to drink at least four glasses of wine by the end of dinner. If we do not fulfill this obligation then we are not being good Jews. And of course, I want to be a good Jew so I exceed my 4 glass obligation.

We eat, drink, and read from the Passover book. I don’t know the words to the prayers but I sing along phonetically, “Barack Obama…matisyahu…ahaiiiinoooo.”

I’m pretty sure that’s how they went.

I eat my weight in brisket, spinach pie, and cheese cake because clearly being comfortable in your own skin involves consuming everything in your immediate line of vision.

Now I just have to run another three miles today to mitigate the effects of the meat, dairy, and wine.