Everything is wrong with me
Monday, April 26, 2004
 
cutting up couches
Friday night was an unmitigated disaster. That's really the best way to sum it up.

As I mentioned, I spent the whole day on Friday being sick. Being trapped in my tiny apartment with my roommate Ben who was (mostly) naked and throwing up constantly was terrible, so, naturally, I decided to smoke a ton of pot to relieve the misery of the illness and situation.

Not a good idea.

I felt worse - more sick, tired, anxious, sweaty - but after a while I fell asleep and woke up feeling decently refreshed.

By this time, I had a full-blown case of cabin fever, so I figured I should get out of the apartment and go out and possibly have a drink or two.

Again, not a good idea.

Loaded with Pepto-Bismol, DayQuil, marijuana, and three vodka red bulls, I went out with my friend Tom and met up with some friends of friends (four girls) who were in town and wanted to see the New York nightlife. Of course, my idea of "New York nightlife" is eating a whole bacon pizza, drinking 16oz cans of Bud in my apartment until 1am, then going to a dive bar and getting shot down by Lower East Side chicks who look like Kelly Osborne on a bad day because "law firm marketing" isn't as an exciting occupation as "artist", "musician", "photographer" or "graphic designer." That, and I'm not good-looking at all.

But sometimes you have to take one for the team, so Tom and I took these girls to the uber-hip Whiskey in the W Hotel. This is where the night starts to get out of hand.

Well, before I go further, I should explain that there was no chance with these girls at all. They were very trendy types, and, though they knew from our mutual friend that I was a "quirky" guy with an "interesting sense of humor", they didn't think it was too funny when I said, "I'm sorry if I'm not myself tonight - I stopped taking my anti-depressants earlier this week and it really hit me today." After reading their uncomfortable reaction, I might as well have said, "So, it looks like none of you are going to show me your boobies tonight, huh?" What a surprise - a swing and a miss.

But back to the night: the bouncer lets the four girls we are with in no problem, but then refuses us entry, simply saying, "No guys." After calmly explaining that he can't break-up our party, and that we just brought four girls to the bar, he says, "$20."

I have to pay this obscene "cover", because I really had no other choice. And I am irate, my anger fueled by booze, medicine, weed, and McDonald's (I had McD's before going out - delicious). Tom is really pissed too, and once we get in he says, "You know what? I'm going to fucking steal $20 worth of shit to get back at them." I think this is a brilliant idea, and say, "Well I'm going to destroy $20 worth of shit in here for making me pay."

We grabbed some beers and sat on the cool vinyl couches and chairs. At that point, I did what any angry, drunk, sick, and lonely man who is struggling with his sexuality would do: I took out my keys, and surreptitiously keyed the shit out of that vinyl couch, ripping the cover pretty fucking good.

Before the night was over, I did the same to another couch and a lounge chair. Tom stole some candle holder thingees and peed all over the toilet seat. The funny thing is that during the night Tom and I talked about how we're both single, but we don't understand why. I think I understand now.

The rest of the weekend was a lost cause because - surprise surprise - going out and taking drugs and drinking on Friday night actually made me sicker. Who knew?

But there's good news and bad news here. The bad news is that I probably shouldn't go back to the Whiskey again, and I will really miss those $6 Bud Lights. The good news is that I finally have something interesting to tell my therapist, instead of filling the empty silences by explaining the intricacies of fantasy sports and hiding the fact that there is probably something seriously wrong with me.

All in all, pretty standard weekend.



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