The HEX

I have spiralled, spiralled deep into the abyss. I believe that I have offended someone very important and/or scary. Here are some highlights of my week/weekend that lead me to this conclusion:

1. I have a Canadian man friend. He has an apartment. It has a bathroom that is shiny and white. I should not be allowed in. I am putting on makeup quickly, because as a girl, one must prove that they can ready themselves for any event in mere moments. Who wants to hang out with someone who spends all day painting and straightening? So, I am proud of my four minute routine and gathering my belongings when my large, beautiful bottle of Chanel foundation slips onto the ground. UGH- thank goodness it's intact. Feeling lucky, I reach down to grab it and instead FLING this shit into the white tile wall where it bursts and spurts EVERYWHERE. I hate my life. I tiptoe into the living room. "Uh, something bad happened......"

2. Upon arriving home, I find my room quite chilly because oh- in NY a lovely, sunny 65 degree day turns into a freezing cold wintery mix in a hot minute. I decide to turn on the heater at least for a while. Oh, right. I built my "closet" just above my radiator. (A happy side effect of this stupidity is that all of my outfits are delightfully warm in the morning.) Keep in mind that my clothes aren't even close to fitting in said "closet." It is a tight freakin fit and you need to know what you're looking for. I have to slide my formal dresses over slightly just for safety reasons, so I stick my hand in and push- simultaneously catching my wrist on a wooden pant hanger and ripping a huge gash down my hand. AWESOME. I look like I just arm wrestled fucking Freddy Crougar.


3. That is all...




















4. On Friday night I finally agree to go out and meet E's man companion. His friends and a few of ours are all meeting at his apartment beforehand. My New Year's resolution being to become more punctual, I arrive first. I am bored. I am drinking. If I don't talk, no one will. I go off on a monologue about where I'm from, how great my neighborhood is, and how if I could be any black man on earth, I would be Jay Z. Yes. All the important stuff. I need to increase my alcohol intake STAT if I'm going to keep this up. Honestly, I don't really remember leaving the apartment, but apparently had a lovely cab ride with my feet through the open partition. I am at Thompson Hotel in SoHo. I drunk dial the Canadian and when asked if I am at the Thompson Hotel in Lower East Side, I agree. WTF? I don't even know where I am? After about 45 minutes of him looking for me at the wrong hotel, I realize what I've done. I think I should get a cab and go find him since this is clearly my drunken fault. Okay, I'm in a cab and I have no clue where the other Thompson Hotel is. No clue. I'm just having this guy DRIVE. By the grace of God (and the patience of the Canadian) I find the other Thompson Hotel and stumble out to meet him at which point he must carry me home. Not like Sweet Chariot carry me home. Like physically haul my ass back to Chelsea, undress me, and put me to bed while listening to me ramble on about craving bread.
WHY ARE THERE TWO HOTELS CALLED THE SAME THING???? I hate my life. Part two.

Crying Game

Here are some highlights of this past week:

A. Last Friday I decide to go out with my cool roommate, who I will now refer to as my seersucker soulmate (us both being from the South and both being fucking fantastic and all). Seersucker soulmate (SSS) tells me we are going to a place called Burger, Shot, Beer. Literally- the items they serve are mini-burgers ($1), shots ($2), and beers ($3). This should equate to my version of Ecstasy. Yes, I will travel all the way to upper west nowhere to attend this party. After several- several shots and 3 disgustingly perfect burgers, SSS and I decide we are too cool for this scene. I mean look at our outfits and our dirty hair- we have to blow this joint. The obvious choice here is to trek downtown to meet some incredibly tall attractive Canadians, begin drinking dirty martinis, and stay out until 5 am. Done.

2. Sunday I have a date with girls to watch soccer at a Liverpool bar around the corner. The number of hot sweaty men with incomprehensible accents there is ridiculous. So there I sit with SSS roomie and some other fabulosos having bloody marys and yelling "BLOODY WANKERS!!" at 11am. After the game, everyone decides to head out- but me and SSS decide we should probably go to an all-you-can-drink brunch in the neighborhood. Burgers, fries, and greyhounds. I don't even know how long we were there but it was dark when we left. After brunch we have to stop in at the boutique across the street from our apartment since they are having a huge sale. This huge sale translates into huge debt for me and now my new fabulous dresses and I will wallow in self-pity for the entire month of February. Goodbye disposable income.

D. Monday night=Chinese New Year. I am pissed about this because I work very closely with our offices overseas. The Asians peace out for like the entire month of January for CNY, which means I can get NOTHING done. Why do we not adopt this same custom in America- ask yourself?? Anyway, the upside is that I'm having dinner at a new Asian fusion restaurant with my Canadian. Fan-fucking-tastic. Fois Gras, dumplings, and absinthe. Does it get better?

**I went to my first Rangers game this week- woot woooooot! Of course I got on camera- seriously?

Lastly, I would like to say that this weekend better be unbelievable after the week I've had at work. I generally consider myself a pretty emotionally stable person, but today... today I nearly cried. At work. Over linen napkins. Fucking bitches better provide some Xanex next time we have these meetings.

A Twenty-Faux Thanksgiving

Its Perfect. I leave for the airport, no traffic, no check-in line, no security problems, flight's on time. My mom picks me up and we lunch/shop. At this point I know it can only go downhill from here.


In all truthfulness, I had a fantastic Thanksgiving at home. A lovely dinner with mom, then over to Mother Linda's. By the time I get to Mother Linda's she is one large size bottle of Beringer's in. "What are you, a movie star? Got your damn sunglasses on and the sun's already gone down," she greets me. Love it. This is a woman I can appreciate. After we down another large vat of pink wine, she is telling me how much she loves "Mason's" (Macy's) and regalling stories of how she can remove her bra with a long sleeve shirt on in less than 10 seconds.


Friday night=wonderful disaster. My BF is having a party for me and her younger sister, as our birthdays are very close. Here are some highlights...

Great shoes



Fabulous hats



Teacups full of pink stuff

Add in a night on the town and a couple of former boyfriends and you've got yourself a situation intéressante. So, what is the proper thing to do when you're hanging out with friends including one ex and you go to a bar only to find ex #2 schmoozing with some girl?? Do you introduce them? Do you run as fast as your blue shoes will carry you? Hell if I know. So I did the only intelligent thing I could think of- I completely ignored the situation. It worked perfectly until one too many pink teacups caught up with me. Too bad I walked up to the girl and said, "hey, you better BE AWARE- he's a tricky one."

Well, we all knew that was going to happen. Cut to me and posse leaving the bar, and ex #2 creepily waiting outside in order to interrogate me about why we aren't still together.... Right. At least ex #1 was there to buy a Papa Johns extra large pizza! YES! I didn't think this would happen, but I am actually really glad to be back in NYC!

Two Things

A. I finally made the trek back home to Chucktown- 1st time since February (hence the lack of blog)

2. Tomorrow is my twenty-faux birthday. Yeah- I'm thinking of not moving forward from twenty four. Although, twenty four has been a shitty year, so maybe I should just go with it.

Situation of note...

Last weekend before leaving I decided to have a lovely night out with friends celebrating our utter outrageousness. I also decided to drink a bottle of wine before leaving the apartment. Shocker. Beauty Bar, always a good time. I apparently befriended a Canadian by spilling his drink all over him. I also apparently ended up in his bear-skin clad apartment sometime in the AM. Canadians: are really hard to understand after 8 drinks and LOVE animal skin of any kind... I generally pride myself on being quick, witty, and ready for anything. But whenever this guy completes a sentence, I literally have to pause for a good 5 seconds to digest/translate whatever he just said. This makes for many awkward moments. Not to mention the part where I tell him I have to go to the bathroom and when he comes to check on me 15 minutes later, I'm sleeping....

Okay, no more of this.