The Hangover Diaries: Red Rum, Ultrasounds and Bleached Roosters
For the sake of journalistic integrity, I always try and take the hangover diary photo at the height of my hangover–you know when you are laying in bed wishing you would just die but you cant sleep because you have to take your morning firepiss so you finally drag yourself out of bed and realize you are wearing women’s neon American Apparel leggings that are ill fitting in the crotchal area? Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.
So faced with the choice of going to Hells Kitchen and being cruised like the 4 dollar HJ Whore that I am or spending a relaxing night at boiler room in the East Village with Jats and Keyster the decision was obvious. For once we stayed at one place the entire night.
But it was still insane.
First off I was celebrating by carrying an ultrasound of my super healthy liver around (I know. This concept is so abnormal to me I am literally going to write an entire post on it later today) and trying to get people to take photos with it. What is it with people in New York and photos? They are either desperate to be in them or pretend that they are too important. Whatever happened to just not giving a fuck about anything? Not to mention it is an ultrasound of someone’s healthy liver? Is there anything more awesome than that? I feel like its as rare as finding a manly top in manhattan.
So in an effort to save money and time I drank the rest of the rum on top of my fridge. Let me just say that rum for me is a day drink–I drink it at the beach after a few beers. It is basically a guaranteed asian glow but I jerked off before going out (because it had been 2 days and I would have figuratively transformed into a fire breathing bitch if not) so I wasn’t looking to meet anyone.
This meant however, that I had to stick with rum for the rest of the night. So I was basically torturing myself the entire time and making IJF faces (I just farted) because the taste was making me pucker like Demi Lovato in front of a Klonopin smoothie.
I got there first and lo and behold somebody actually made a move on me. I have bad barma (thats bar karma) and can never manage to get a bartender to take my order no matter how far my tits hang out. So a guy came up to me and showed me a secret corner of the bar to stand in. I was so impressed (since I rarely get approached at bars) that I talked to him for a very long while. He is cute, hispanic, and can hold a conversation. Also he seems secure and confident (which will be a nice change from some of the guys I’ve gone out with). I am going out with him tonight so I will keep you all posted.
So Jats and Keyster show up with several other friends. Amongst them the guy Jats is talking to. He has great style and a very edgy brooklyn feel. I absolutely adore his hair and think it looks great. But I am still going to refer to him as the Bleached Rooster. At one point Jats pushed him onto the pool table and straddled him while making out. I am assuming that their night ended when that rooster crowed.
One of Jat’s cute friends invited me to an event next Friday called the Enid Ellen Release Party which I am going to even though I have no idea who that is. You should go too, as it is my birthday week and I will be in typical form. (naked, drunk, hanging from chandeliers singing Ke$ha ballads)
Another friend who just came back from a long vacation out of the country hadn’t realized he was back in America yet because I went up to him and caught him telling someone that his father was Brazillian. I know for a fact that his father is something else ethnic. Off the top of my head I have no idea what, but I know its not Brazillian. So I called him on it because for some reason I morph into Abraham Lincoln when I am drunk and cannot tell a lie. (except about my sexuality haha-do you know what abe lincoln kept under that huge hat? His twink boyfriend Dominic.) So I called him on it because I thought maybe he was confused (in retrospect, someone being confused about their father’s origins seems ridiculous).
Then I kept introducing Keyster as my black friend. Its how I refer to him behind his back so I figured I should do it in front of his face too. He didn’t seem to care. White people did. This of course had me going into a tirade about how everyone is a little bit racist. If you don’t believe me go see Avenue Q. And then shut the fuck up.
Then Bleached Rooster wanted to find his white friend, so we sent out a search party. I finally found her in the bathroom but then promptly lost her again. Boiler Room isn’t that big but by that time Keyster had gone home, Jats was practically cocking Bleached Rooster on that dirty floor and it was either go home and pass out or throw up in a garbage can. They all went off to another place.
I went home, bought a digiorno pizza, thanked CHRIST that I made it through a night of drinking rum, and watched the United States of Tara and Nurse Jackie.
Unfortunately I have no recollection of either show so I have to watch them again today.