Tag Archives: nights_out

The Gansevoort On Park Ave Is like the hotel california, and other notes from the weekend.

Baby Alexa turned 23. To celebrate we brought her lots of goodies from the Mexican dollar store on our block. Stolen Equal packaged and priced at $1.25, anyone?

The As having a Worst Club Ever experience in the line at the Gansevoort on Park Ave. It was equally as hard to find our way out, surprisingly enough. It's like the Hotel California, with a longer line to get in but a promoter grabs you and brings you in after five minutes of standing in the rain and bouncers keep telling you the doors that say Exit aren't really exits so you almost start crying because you think you're trapped in the Gansevoort and all you want are chicken wings from the Bodega.
So, pretty much the same.

Making this super small because Austin will hate me for posting it. Austin, you really wanted me to take a picture with the most bruisedbanana.
You were disgusted by the bananas.

Evidence that a Saturday night crime was committed.
Late night eating, I hate how much I love you.
The existence of this photo made me realize how annoying I am when I'm taking photos of stupid shit and I'm all, "OMG YOU GUYS I'M GOING TO PUT THIS ON MY BLOG."

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Oh Drunk Girl, we are the same

As you know, I’ve had a hard week at my job dealing with the mounting stress of Valentine’s Day. There are problems in life that involve effort – making a plan about resolving them, listening to ‘You Can Do It!’ music while running on the treadmill, etc. Then there are problems that you just have to let wash over you and know they’ll end in a matter of time. This is the second type of problem, and I’ve decided to let it wash over me and wash it down with a lot of vodka.

I feel encouraged by the fact that I didn’t have a hangover yesterday, in spite of drinking almost that entire bottle of Skyy Vodka, smoking cigarettes and eating only raw food all day… and chickpeas, which Franklin told me aren’t raw, damnit. I think my body is telling me that YES, this is exactly how I need to proceed through this stressful situation.

I started out the weekend with the intention of drinking heavily and guess what? I succeeded!! I ended my night by breaking my vegan diet and eating a spicy special on my couch, but how I got to that point is so awesome.

First off – I saved a drunk girl! I don’t know from what, but as I was leaving my friend’s apartment I happened upon this:

Looks like a crime scene, no?

Anyway, after the several minutes it took to figure out whether or not she was actually dead, I saw her apartment keys and let myself into her place. I tried to get her to stand up and walk to her bed, but she didn’t even want to get off the floor . Our conversation went something like this:

Me – Hey, hey! Let’s get you inside.

Drunk Girl – I uhhhhhhh, nooooas;jkfs;jkasf

Me – No, you really wanna go inside your apartment. Let’s get you inside your apartment.

DG – Nouehahahheeeeekkksdf;kafd;kad

Me – Oh, honey. You really don’t want to be out here in your hallway (starts to pull DG up)

DG – ;jadfs;dfkldfjkldfjkladsfjlkdfskljkjdfuhhhhhhhhh

I ended up having to pull her into her living room by picking her up and dragging her into her apartment.

After throwing her keys on the floor and going over the Angela’s, I continued my quest to drink heavily. The funny thing about helping drunk people when you’re about to get drunk is the very limited amount of time that you have to feel self-righteous. It took all of an hour before I fell in the bar and Austin and Angela had to help me off my knees – I apparently decided hanging out on my knees at the empty bar was a good choice.

Shortly after that I headed home, “decided” to break my diet and buy a Spicy Special and cheese fries, and went to the bodega. While I was waiting for them to make my sandwich, the cashier walked away from the register. It was at this point that I realized the chocolate bars by the register were good for the taking, and I decided to steal a chocolate bar. I slipped one into my purse, and after the cashier returned, didn’t notice and left again, I took a second.

When I woke up this morning and surveyed the wreckage in my living room (somehow I put away the rest of my sandwich and fries, but left my underwear in the middle of my living room) I saw the two chocolate bars sitting on the coffee table. They serve as a great reminder that on any given night I’m only one failed attempt at opening my door away from being the drunk girl I helped.

Yes, there is a price tag on my sweatpants. In case you’re wondering, it says $2.99.

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