Why do I have to look like absolute shit every time I run into an ex?
My dream is to bump into an ex girlfriend at some formal event where I’m in a suit, looking sharp, hair did, holding a high ball of scotch, with a better looking girl on my arm; Continue reading
I have not posted in a couple of days because I had a weekend wedding getaway at a resort in the Catskills. You may be wondering if it was my wedding. It wasn’t. My friends John and Carrie got married after being engaged for over a year. I’m still a tiger out there, and you can’t put a leash on a tiger (translation: I spend many horny nights alone at home).
There are few different kinds of weddings:
1) You are the friend and guest of Continue reading
I hadn’t hated myself more in recent memory than today. I woke up at 2:40pm still drunk from last night and went to grab my phone which usually sleeps with me. It wasn’t there. I checked the floor, the common room, the kitchen, the refrigerator (I’ve found it in there before). I couldn’t have lost it out, because I didn’t go out…because it was a Friday and I’m in my mid-20’s.
I felt a draft from an open window and the thought occurred to me that I should check the back deck. There was my phone, sitting precariously on the back ledge, completely soaked. I barely recalled going outside at around 4am to have a cigarette that my friend left behind which I completely didn’t need for two reasons: 1) my health, and 2) a cigarette at the end of a long night of drinking usually cuts my drunken motor skills in half and I end up decorating my body with bruises.
I immediately disassembled the phone and dried it the best I could. It didn’t respond to the power button. I left it on the charger in front of a fan for two hours (because I don’t own a god damn blow-dryer). Now, the power button doesn’t work, but the phone does respond when it is opened. I am praying that the touch screen still works, otherwise, this will be the third Droid that I have gone through.
This whole experience was a bit of a reality check. I am far too dependent on my phone for somebody who is not important at all. I wonder how many times a day I check facebook on my phone thinking “I wonder what’s new” only to realize that I checked it 15 minutes prior and nothing ever happens ever.
I decided to take a train back from NYC because the Megabus, though inexpensive, is entirely unreliable and I usually get parked near the bathroom. I bought a ticket for the 7:15 departing from Penn Station, and in typical me fashion, I hailed a cab slightly wine-drunk at 6:35 with (piloted by the angriest middle easterner I’ve ever had to deal with) and ended up in line for my ticket at 7:11.
The train was on time and so I hustled with my dorky, over-sized duffle down the escalator nearly KO’ing an elderly woman. The first and second cars were packed. To my elation, there was an open seat next to an adorable, pocket-sized hipster girl in the first row of the third car. I politely asked if I could sit next to her to which she replied a nearly inaudible “yup” (or “yum”…I was kind of hoping it was “yum”). I vaulted the early 90’s Adidas competitive badminton player edition duffel onto the luggage rack, grabbed my supplies and sat down.
Then the anxiety set in.
I realized a number of things. I had a clear sweat-stripe across my polo shirt from sprinting to the train. My breath reeked of wine and I was out of mints. My “supplies” were my iPod, headphones and my Nintendo DS…I knew I should have brought a god damn book. I made eye-contact with her with a face that was to read “I realize that I look like a complete nerd but would you consider converstion in spite of that?” but as I did, my headphones ravaged my eardrums with full-volume Boards of Canada (I must remember to always check the volume if my iPod has been in my pocket). I was left convulsing and she promptly faced the window.
It was a quiet ride.
According to an electronic sign on Lark Street, the City of Albany now has a sound ordinance for “loud, audible music” playing in cars. Not five minutes after I saw that sign, flashing lights came up behind me on Madison Avenue while I was blaring Gary Numan. I turned the music down at once and stopped at a red light with the officer behind me. When the light turned green, I slowly pulled over to the right. The officer passed by me and sped off down the hill. My heart rate slowed back down and then I just felt like an asshole. I couldn’t help thinking, however, how cool it would be to have a ticket for blasting “The Pleasure Principle.”
the self-hating hipster 