I felt so stir-crazy after my GRE was over. I was all but rocking back and forth in the corner of my room muttering the definition of words like obsequious and numismatics. “Overly submissive and eager to please” and “Coin-collecting” for those of you intrigued. Come Friday, I needed to get out. I had a stitch and bitch planned with a friend who recently learned to knit, but I needed something a bit more. So after hours of stitching, bitching, sharing a bottle of wine she brought back from Npa, and listening to Prairie Home Companion (a.k.a. soundtrack to the best knitting sessions of your life) I headed out to meet up with Gian.
He wanted to do something divey, so I suggested Subway Inn, which is a dirty bar across the street from Bloomingdale’s on the Upper East Side. It’s sketchy sketchy sketchy, and right up my alley.
May I preface this story by saying that I was ENTIRELY sober. I consumed that half bottle of wine over a four hour period and was not drunk.
So Gian and I walk in to the bar. I look over at him to verify that he is in fact looking around and nodding. “This’ll do,” he solemnly stated.
We look around for a booth or a table or bar stools, but not much is available. It’s a rockin’ Friday night after all. We see a table in a dark corner underneath a speaker and decide to park there. It was dark. Gian sits down on his side of the table and starts taking off his coat. I go to sit down. What happens next is a story of SOBER confusion.
I lean to sit, I lean farther, farther. There is no chair there. But things have been set in motion that cannot be changed, and my butt plummets to the ground, as I make a noise something like “Woah, woah, woah, waaaaaaaaah!”
I am now sitting on a dirty bar floor, very confused and scrambling to get up. I slap my hand on the table and slowly pick myself up, no doubt completely red. Gian is trying to not laugh at me. “Where did you go just now?” I grab the chair that is sitting on his side of the table.
“It’s dark. I thought there was a chair. There was NO chair. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I am trying to gain my composure and ignore my pained behind. “Did anyone see me?” I ask him.
“Just those people at the bar,” he points to the bartender and a group of women laughing hysterically at me. I pull my fur hood over my head and lower my forehead to the table.
“I am so embarrassed I want to die.”
Moving on to Saturday! Brian and I had a lovely day. Brunch in the West Village and fantasy shopping in SoHo (pretending we can afford things we absolutely can’t.) We met up with Gian to watch the Husky Football Game and then took him on more fantasy shopping. We ended up in a shoe store where I tried on these ridiculous shoes.
They are all the rage in New York right now, but I am way too tall to wear them. They made me as tall as Brian who is 6’2″. I had a couple of awkward stumbles in them at first, then I started doing laps in them, pretending to catch a cab. The salesperson was nice enough to give me a matching bag to make the scenario more realistic. Everyone laughed at me which is fine, because I was in on the joke this time. Or maybe that salesman was hoping to up his commission.
Not this time, buddy. This girl is a starving writer who can’t afford Ho-shoes.
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