Paid on a Friday, broke by Monday. I have a restless night of sleep as Discover and T-Mobile kick my bank accounts ass, and I did my own fair share of damage this weekend as well. Just, when you're broke for a week and severely depressed, and SOMEHOW you pull off surviving another week in the city...you want to party.
So after my cataclysmic Wed night and my epic dance-a-thon Thurs, I went out again on Fri night. I met up at Matt's apartment and we hung out on his fire escape drinking green tea & vodka. Then some beers at a bar nearby, then down to the Village for some sushi, the Soho for some more drinks.
I play wingman as he slips in and gets numbers. I know I had a conversation with someone, but other than her age (my own) and where she was from (Jersey), the rest is a haze. From there we do...something? We may've taken a taxi up to Hamachi on 23rd where I met up with LaRaisha & Johnny Speedboat for karaoke.
I woke up the next afternoon, hungover as fuck, late for work, and in Spanish Harlem. I somehow manuevered the area in blazing heat, down to the top of Central Park and nearly pass out as I wait to get a Metrocard. I get to work and want to die. Pale and puffy, sweating through the white shirt and vest I wore the night before.
Eventually the hangover is a dull body ache and a sore throat, but as work draws to a close, I realize I have plans to go out that night as well. The Irish Exit, a new pub on the east side Midtown, basically turns into a dance club. I met up with Reilly & his gf Shauna and tell the girl at the door we're there on Kealan's list, and have some half price drinks.
The place is devastatingly packed. I'm caught somewhere between hangover and anxiety as musclebound bros and fabulous hoes squeeze by every few seconds. Girls jump up on the bar, bubbleguns fired into the air, and even the theme song to Growing Pains gets rocked out to.
I had to open a tab as I had no cash and suddenly after three beers and shots, I'm signing away $40 between girls legs, skirts tossed about my eye line. We skip out of there, walk down to 34th & 3rd, get one last drink at Joshua Tree, singing along with the best of 80's videos.
From there I meet up with LaRaisha and we go to Planet Rose and have a few drinks as well. Only, I didn't realize that my old roommate and his girlfriend were there. I hate them. Immensely. He looks like shit, like something I dragged up from the shower drain when I first moved in with him. I dream of dragging him outside and beating him, or hitting his woman, daring him to man up and try and fight me.
There's an entire book that could be written on how much and why I hate him like I do. But the situation was bound to happen considering that I've been hanging in the East Village a lot lately. From there Larasiha and I hang out on her brother's roof across from Webster Hall. They take turns playing songs on the guitar and it kills me everytime.
I just sit here and press a string of keys as thoughts come to me, vocabulary and grammar just piecing itself together as I do. But to just pick up and instrument, close your eyes, and physically transform into this being that can produce harmonies and notes and move you on a deep level, well, I see why muscians are more regarded, or eagerly appreciated rather.
But so that's that. The party's over (until next payday?) and now it's back to surviving on the mean streets of NYC. This is why I'll appreciate the fame and fortune, because I was here, eating egg rolls & street cart food to survive, sleeping on floors and asking other for help. And one day I will pay it back.
K
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