Broken Bottles, Concussions, Route 66 Margaritas, and 20 ft Chandeliers
So I’ll jump right in. Friday night hell froze over and Demi Lovato recovered from her eating disorder because I actually stayed in and worked all night. My friend needed help moving saturday morning, so I figured it was as good a night as any to take it easy. What I didn’t realize is that in order to keep the balance of the elements and the world turning, I would have to get completely faced the next day to make up for it. So I met my friend (and a few of his attractive friends as well) Saturday at 9:30 to help him move from Chelsea to Williamsburg. Why you ask? Honestly I have no idea. He is trading muscley queens that brunch all day in tight tank tops for anorexic hipsters that smoke cigarettes at indie concerts in tight jeans. Pick your poison. You are going to die eventually anyway. So we moved him in, all the while I am trying hard not to flirt with a cute guy that has a boyfriend (who I am going to call lil wolfie) –mostly because I am already involved with way too many cute guys that have boyfriends.
We ended up at Mccaron (sp) park in Williamsburg which is basically like central park but without manicured lawns or trees. There is a little bar on the corner called the Wild Turkey (or at least thats what we called it all day) where you can get a margarita the size of a Route 66 slushie from Sonic for 10 bucks. Funny story–at one point I got into an argument with the bartender about why he didnt have grenadine or red food coloring to make my margarita red. Then I realized I was in a straight bar. So I pulled down my skirt, adjusted my bra and left because I didn’t want to get raped on top of a pinball machine. (lie). Thats my second Jodie Foster reference in a week. Im on fiyah.
The guy who we were helping move had saved 300 bucks by enlisting our help so he paid for the 60 bucks in buffalo wings we wandered out to find and all our drinks. Amazing host.
I found part of an earring on the ground–a pear shaped black jewel made of plastic which I dubbed my dark crystal and used to make the sun come out. Have you ever noticed that the friends in your group all resemble creatures from the dark crystal/labyrinth/legend?
So then my friend (a girl) Timon (her real name is no stranger than her nickname) joined us and I said “want some lemonade?” and passed her my margarita. Her face nearly exploded when she tasted it. Then she had another sip. And that is why I love her. Second reason I love her–she actually tasted the breastmilk I am now able to create because I took illegal horse hormones for a few years in preparation for Gay Days in Orlando. Third reason? Who else could I scale a fucking building with? More on this later. The point is you have to be a really really awesome girl in order to be my friend. Because frankly most girls are annoying.
So she and I wandered around watching a gay and lesbian softball game and playing WWYF. (who would you fuck). Then, since the sun was finally out. She lives in this AMAZING loft space in williamsburg that basically looks like a set from an urban outfitters catalogue. We went up to her rooftop where we stripped down to our manties, hit on random german guys having parties, and drank beer and wine–we also brought chocolate sauce for some unknown reason . There was a random papasan chair on the roof which was perfect too. We didn’t have a bottle opener, and in Brooklyn all the beers have weird ironic names and are hard to open. So Timon literally busted that bottle on a metal grate. And then drank from it. Damn, it felt good to be a gangsta. This is of course after we finished a bottle of wine. So far in this day I have had vodka, tequila, white wine, a jello shot of unknown origins, and brooklyn lager. A recipe for success if I have ever heard one.
Do you know how sometimes you see something–and you don’t know how you are going to get it, but you want it? That is the way we felt about the neighboring rooftop. So, clad in our underwear, drunk off our tits we decided to scale down a wall and travel to the rooftop next door. In the middle of climbing down, a rusty window grate broke off the window and hit me in the face. I am pretty sure I have a concussion. We ended up lampooned so we had to climb back up a different way–which was interruped by a couple who ran out saying “they heard a ruckus and wanted to make sure everything was all right.” I told them everything was fine. While I climbed up a drain pipe. In my underwear. 7 stories above the street.
Somehow Timon and I made it back to her apartment where I promptly passed out on one of the 7 vintage couches. I woke up an hour later still completely fucked out of my mind–which is great because I had another party to get to.
I am breaking this entry up into two installments. It was that awesome.
But here are some pics.