I miss drugs
Saturday night. Time to rip the city of New York a new asshole. I decided to cut costs and bring the flask I bought in Mexico, which is fashioned out of an actual deer hoof. My dog goes crazy when I wave it around. I met up with Jason, who was a big fan of it. BIG fan.
I met Jessica shortly afterwords, who thought of me when she saw this, and she got it for me.
It was so nice, I had seen it in Barnes and Nobles and really wanted it. I need to start writing about my time in Asia, but I don't feel ready yet. A lot of hard things happened there. Anyway, I had to carry this book around for the rest of the night, which was a small price to pay for having gotten it.
The bar was super boring. So I started reading.
But lo and behold, Jessica is a magnet for everything strange. A scary man came up to us, bought us beers, and then told us that he drives the clown car in the circus. Yes, that's his job, he drives the little clown car around the ring. He quickly became my number one hero.
=
I love how just anyone will let me take their picture.
After a while we were like, lets bust this joint. So we got into a cab to go uptown, where there was Irish music, lots of beer, and a few of our friends. But fuck all, I sat in something wet.
AWESOME. I love walking into a bar looking like I peed myself.
By the time we got there, my body was so riddled with booze that I could barely function. Jessica wants to puke so we have to walk down a set of stairs to get to the bathroom. We, like, didn't do so well.
Jessica fell. She winced, then made it down the stairs in time to get a picture of me with my wallet, keys, and phone all over the stairs, along with the wet spot on my ass that will never dry. ever.
There was Irish dancing and Irish music, so those who could actually Irish dance did..and those who couldn't were drunk enough to think they were really good at faking it. And I mean you, Tom:
Patrick was really into it as well, maybe a little too into it. By the way, I bought you a fucking belt.
"Jane please please don't put that on the internet. I'm serious, I'll kill you."
The bar was closing, and half of the group had dropped like flies...but the real party people were not done yet. We went to a bar that we have been many times before. It is the bar you go to when you are desperate. It is a bar where nothing good has ever come from going there. It is: Desmond's.
<---When I see this picture, I immediately feel like calling a priest and having him read everyone at Desmond's their Last Rites.
Jessica kept pointing at my boobs all night.
When you drink enough to kill a small horse, this is what happens when you stand up:
<--Notice the proximity of their faces to the street. This is where Tom screams "My Banana Republic jacket!!!" in the girliest voice known to man.
Al said "let's go to a strip club! It's only 5 a.m.!" Everyone decided that was a great idea, probably the best idea to come along in centuries. We scoured the city streets looking for this:
But it was closed! This is NYC! I bet there are about 100 people who would want to be in a strip club at 5 in the morning. This is called "The City That Never Sleeps", not "The City That Never Peeps."
We walk around the city until almost 6 a.m. Jessica has gone home, so at this point it's me and 3 guys. We stop into a pizza place on 42nd street and see a lot of this:
I'm wearing a very low-cut shirt, in a pizza place, with 3 guys at 6 in the morning. The hookers look me up and down in a menacing fashion. I tell one of them I like their jacket, even though I don't, but I'm trying to break the tension. They ask me who I work for.
"Who..who I work for?"
cue hooker #3: "What we is saying is, this is OUR block."
Cue my nervous laugh. "Oh! Oh no, I'm not a...I'm not" (how do you say "hooker" "prostitute" etc with out sounding like you want a fight? What do these women call themselves? I don't know. But they got the message.)
As we walk out of the pizza place, one of the hookers on the corner is being led into a police car.Cool! I was just identified as a hooker, BY a hooker, then I get to see a hooker get arrested. Oh my god, great ending to the night.
(Now hum the "Brady Bunch" theme song in your head):
It's not easy waking up after a night like this:
On a final note, today an old "friend" decided to badmouth me over an away message, which is both mature and original. This person, and we'll call him Mim Jagee, was nothing short of obsessed with hating me in college. He would trash me to anyone who would listen. At first it was disturbing, then it was more amusing. The difference between our hatreds is that, between the two of us, I have a legitimate excuse to hate him whereas his motives have always remained unclear.
This is titled "My daddy never hugged me when I was a kid".
So, Mim Jagee, I have compiled a little gift basked for you. Everything in this basket should address your problems. Trust me, anything you need is right here in this basket. Don't bother with a thank-you card.
This has been another production by:
copyright Jane Callahan 2006