It's amazing how many people are up and out 8:30am on a Sunday.
Last night, at 7pm, I met with my friend Nelson in Times Square, outside of the now defunct food court on 42nd between 7th and 8th. We had an hour to kill before meeting with our friend Travis and his family and friends for his pre-birthday birthday dinner, so Nelson suggested I watch as he searched for a comic book I didn't pay attention to the name of, in a comic book store a couple blocks away. He gave up the hunt about a quarter to eight, and thus we walked over to Carmine's to meet with our reason for coming out that day.
Carmine's serves intimidatingly large portions of food which pleased my inner fatkid extremely, while satisfying my guinea outer self. The first thing they do when they seat you, is ask if you've ever eaten there before and then stress how important it is to order only three different dishes for your entire party of twelve. All I know is that dinner was paid for by Travis' mother, I ate Penne Ala Vodka till my gut almost said NO and threw a fit, and tried and liked Tiramisu for the first time (they should take away my Italian card for that).
After dinner, we said goodbye to Travis' family and headed to some bar called...whatever it was called, down on Chambers street, at the request of Tess, Travis' date. There we sat in pools of our own sweat thanks to no air conditioning, watched NYU boys play Beer Pongwhich is a game that's nothing short of repulsiveand I guzzled down Strawberry Daiquiris and almost a few White Russians and Buttery Nipples and some fucked up version of a Long Island Iced Tea. Jesus Christ.
Once the heat in that joint took its toll on us once and for all, we left, said goodbye to Travis, Tess and our friend Bobby, and Nelson and I started walking uptown where we ended up at the Cozy Soup & Burger diner on Broadway and 8th Street, sort-of. Because I'm gross, I had to have pancakes and coffee there, at 2am; it was shameless and I love life. We sat there until around 3, discussing life and a small handful of people we think are stupid. Then we left and decided to walk up Broadway to midtown in the disgustingly humid night air. Nelson spent this weekend cat-sitting for his boss who has a lovely little apartment on 89th Street, and because neither of us wanted to train-it to our homes in Brooklyn and Queens, respectively, we took her up on her offer of using her place to crash while she is away. On our sticky yet entertaining walk uptown, we saw Janeane Garofalo walking her two dogs, who both looked like Labs in two different shades of caramel and terribly cute. I was aching to pet one, but we kept going.
We arrived at the 89th Street apartment around 4am, where, I might add, I almost slipped and broke my legs by walking on the wood floor in my socks because the ground was unnecessarily slippery. Anyway, the two of us claimed a sofa and tried watching The Office, but gave up 25 minutes in, due to missing out on all the funny in the wake of English accents neither of us could understand; in my defense, however, I was seated right by the air conditioner so I could hardly make out anything that was said in any language whether or not I spoke a version of it myself. During this period, my allergies caught a major hard-on for my face sparked by the two cats in the apartment which Nelson was taking care of. One was a little black Fuck-Off kind of cat, the other resembled a large sack of potatoes covered in dark gray fur with a particularly pleasant disposition. After a decent amount of time in their presence, my head ached, I blew my nose raw, sneezed till my chest rattled, and my voice reverted to that of a pubescent boy. I held out, and we put on another movie. I wish that I could have the time between 5 and 7:30am handed right back to me; this is also known as The Time Spent Watching Mulholland Dr.. What the fuck was happening there?
Now freshly befuddled and grabbing at invisible straws trying to figure out what we just saw, we cleaned up and made our way out the door by 8am. I coughed, sneezed and wheezed my way home just shy of 9:30 this morning.
And because I feel and look like garbage, I'm putting up this picture I took before going out last night. To remind me that I don't always look how I feel at this moment.
Last night, at 7pm, I met with my friend Nelson in Times Square, outside of the now defunct food court on 42nd between 7th and 8th. We had an hour to kill before meeting with our friend Travis and his family and friends for his pre-birthday birthday dinner, so Nelson suggested I watch as he searched for a comic book I didn't pay attention to the name of, in a comic book store a couple blocks away. He gave up the hunt about a quarter to eight, and thus we walked over to Carmine's to meet with our reason for coming out that day.
Carmine's serves intimidatingly large portions of food which pleased my inner fatkid extremely, while satisfying my guinea outer self. The first thing they do when they seat you, is ask if you've ever eaten there before and then stress how important it is to order only three different dishes for your entire party of twelve. All I know is that dinner was paid for by Travis' mother, I ate Penne Ala Vodka till my gut almost said NO and threw a fit, and tried and liked Tiramisu for the first time (they should take away my Italian card for that).
After dinner, we said goodbye to Travis' family and headed to some bar called...whatever it was called, down on Chambers street, at the request of Tess, Travis' date. There we sat in pools of our own sweat thanks to no air conditioning, watched NYU boys play Beer Pongwhich is a game that's nothing short of repulsiveand I guzzled down Strawberry Daiquiris and almost a few White Russians and Buttery Nipples and some fucked up version of a Long Island Iced Tea. Jesus Christ.
Once the heat in that joint took its toll on us once and for all, we left, said goodbye to Travis, Tess and our friend Bobby, and Nelson and I started walking uptown where we ended up at the Cozy Soup & Burger diner on Broadway and 8th Street, sort-of. Because I'm gross, I had to have pancakes and coffee there, at 2am; it was shameless and I love life. We sat there until around 3, discussing life and a small handful of people we think are stupid. Then we left and decided to walk up Broadway to midtown in the disgustingly humid night air. Nelson spent this weekend cat-sitting for his boss who has a lovely little apartment on 89th Street, and because neither of us wanted to train-it to our homes in Brooklyn and Queens, respectively, we took her up on her offer of using her place to crash while she is away. On our sticky yet entertaining walk uptown, we saw Janeane Garofalo walking her two dogs, who both looked like Labs in two different shades of caramel and terribly cute. I was aching to pet one, but we kept going.
We arrived at the 89th Street apartment around 4am, where, I might add, I almost slipped and broke my legs by walking on the wood floor in my socks because the ground was unnecessarily slippery. Anyway, the two of us claimed a sofa and tried watching The Office, but gave up 25 minutes in, due to missing out on all the funny in the wake of English accents neither of us could understand; in my defense, however, I was seated right by the air conditioner so I could hardly make out anything that was said in any language whether or not I spoke a version of it myself. During this period, my allergies caught a major hard-on for my face sparked by the two cats in the apartment which Nelson was taking care of. One was a little black Fuck-Off kind of cat, the other resembled a large sack of potatoes covered in dark gray fur with a particularly pleasant disposition. After a decent amount of time in their presence, my head ached, I blew my nose raw, sneezed till my chest rattled, and my voice reverted to that of a pubescent boy. I held out, and we put on another movie. I wish that I could have the time between 5 and 7:30am handed right back to me; this is also known as The Time Spent Watching Mulholland Dr.. What the fuck was happening there?
Now freshly befuddled and grabbing at invisible straws trying to figure out what we just saw, we cleaned up and made our way out the door by 8am. I coughed, sneezed and wheezed my way home just shy of 9:30 this morning.
And because I feel and look like garbage, I'm putting up this picture I took before going out last night. To remind me that I don't always look how I feel at this moment.
VIEW 25 of 40 COMMENTS
kitty death allergies suck
i know too much about them
xo