This is what happened.
Finishing work at 2:30 p.m. can be a very dangerous thing.
It is called Happy Hour, and it is located everywhere on every corner. But first. After I got off work and swung by H to work out, I found myself worried sick and stressed out. Traniella and Blonde assured me that everything would be fine and that I just needed to relax and get a drink. Tran reminded me that I make things up in my head and that I always go terrible places and I shouldn't, and there was a cigarette, and maybe she will be getting a tattoo of a woman getting her eye ripped out by a bird.
I met up with Craig, who was getting off from work and we went to Vynl Hell's Kitchen to bitch and moan and talk a whole lot of shit and have "a drink." Apparently this means a frozen margarita and three frozen cosmopolitans. Each. And when I say cosmopolitan I don't mean Sex and the City pussy faggot new york hahaha cosmo, I mean frozen vodka with oh yeah maybe some strawberry flavoring, sure. Brensley came and met up with us there and we agreed fuck the Gansevoort we don't need 77 dollar cocktails surrounded by a bunch of dying models to watch a Fireworks show, so we decided to go to Brad's roof instead. Since I knew that i wasn't going to be met up with, I just took it for what it was and had another drink. Samir also had met us at Vynl and clearly he is never a good influence and can definitely play devil's advocate when you are trying to edge toward sobriety.
This is what I know:
- we stopped by the deli because we were hungry and I think Brensley ended up buying me a sandwich because I couldn't find my debit card, which I ended up finding.
- we went to the roof and I thinnnnk the fireworks were pretty awesome and there were a bunch of people up there and I tried to FaceTime but to no avail. i thought about where i was last year, and the year before, and i always use these opportunities to intoxicate myself with nostalgia.
- I think I left my bag up there, which is the source of the rest of the evening's problems.
- Me and Samir left at some point and ended up separated.
- I peed on the street... and when I say street I mean like out in the open, not even trying to be cool about it.
- I realized I lost my bag, and for whatever reason, did not go back upstairs to look for it on the roof. (I am still not sure why yet.)
- Samir left, apparently told me he would swipe me into the train station, but for whatever reason I didn't do that either.
And then began the walking.
Next thing I knew, like a true homeless person, I was wandering alongside the Port Authority Bus Terminal... no money, no debit card, no Metrocard. Only my phone. Which was dying. Now that I look back at the situation, I feel like I got a lot more upset than I probably should have. I saw it as the lowest of the low, the end of the line, verge of tears, my life is a disaster, I had this coming somehow. But now that it is 8 am the following morning, I see that it was more like some dirty little persuasion that the Vodka whispered to me, and I think I was just looking for an excuse to let out a lot of pent up aggression and unhappiness with the world.
the It Boy texted, told me my bag would be fine and did not seem concerned, said I should meet and have a drink, but I was too concerned with being homeless and hating my life to even consider such silliness.
My phone, on the verge of death, was my link to the world and I think I tried to go to hummus kitchen because everyone went there to get Jarvis after work, and although I thought that the journey there would be like the fucking chronicles of narnia, it was actually really only a few blocks away. which doesn't make sense, because if i was at Brad's roof (46th) and I was heading toward the Hummus Kitchen (51?st) then how the fuck did I end up at at the port authority (42nd). maybe i just dreamed that... the evening became so anomalous and convoluted you really can't believe anything i'm saying.
point is, i got really fucking upset, people on the street were looking at me like i was karen black if she was a fucking bag woman, i ended up hearing a rumor on the street that there was a place to charge your phone in this bar called vintage OH WAIT.... that's why it was the end of the world, because my phone was actually fucking DEAD this whole time so I didn't even have a way to get in touch with ANYONE. AND i had no money, metro, etc, okkkkkkk my disarray just became a lot more justified.
i ended up going into vintage to charge my phone at this crazy station that had all these phone ports... it is actually a phenomenal idea... and then when my phone finally came back on i had 750 voicemails from jarvis trying to find me, which he did. him and craig rescued me, and then we got into a taxi and just sped uptown at the speed of light and jarvis held me in my trauma.
this is what i know:
- i made it to work today on time
- the sandwich i got from the deli i dont even think i ate and now i'm FUCKING starving. like, auschwitz, body dismorphic episode starving.
- my bag is still gone, and i may or may not get it back.
- i am virtually catatonic, and you couldn't pay me to care about any of what i have just told you.
i think i am beginning to detach from some of my emotions.
how deep, right?
fuck off.
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