Pre-Boarding: How the NY Weekend Began

(Saturday and Sunday entries will be posted in a few more hours, with photos! Sorry about the wait, I caught some sort of cold in NY and I feel woozy and icky.)

First, to catch up, I’ll have to backtrack to Thursday night. That’s when the madness really began. Christie called at quarter to seven, sounding as though she’d pretty much given up on life, since she’d experienced a hellish day at work, that was quickly devolving into a hellish evening at work. She wanted martinis at Blur, and she wanted lots of them, pronto. I zipped over to meet her as quickly as I could, bringing Ed and Jamie as cheering squad. We proceeded to soothe her troubled brow by mocking her cooking skills.

I must admit (and never let it be said that I casually or without good reason talk shit about my mates) she has mad skillz, but not so much with the cooking. I believe the phrase “Ah, spaghetti! Incense for the poor,” nicely summarizes a recent attempt on the part of my beloved girlfriend to combine Italian and Cajun cuisine by actually setting spaghetti on fire. This, following closely on the heels of a spectacular experiment involving microwave popcorn in an innovative Emeril-styled melted plastic sauce, which I will refrain from narrating to protect the dignity of the innocent. But I think I’ve proved my point.

The bar hopping continued down to Sneaky Dees and then over to the Free Times Café, at which point we remembered that it wasn’t actually Friday yet. Oops.

Estimated hours of sleep on Thursday: 5.5 —- Inebriation level: high

Friday night was Dr. Darcy’s housewarming. Our genial host made it different from your boring, run of the mill housewarmings by actually assembling large sections of his house before our very eyes, including his stereo and light fixtures. There was, of course, a large crew from the chemistry department there, and a number of University College alumni. The UC kids exhibited their smarts by migrating out onto the freaky “shimmy-shimmy shake” sixteenth floor balcony, which conveniently overlooks a large cemetery near the DVP. Darcy grimly pointed out that it was a very “no fuss, no muss” set-up if anyone got a little too drunk and decided they could fly. At that point I decided to abstain from the booze and retreat back inside.

Also at the party was my friend Dr. Aly. Now, I’m no hagiographer, but it seems to me this guy should be shortlisted for sainthood. We got to talking about our coming weekends, and I mentioned I was taking an early flight to New York the next day. He asked how I was getting there, and I told him that due to budgetary constraints I was planning on going home to pack, then taking public transport to the airport before it stopped running, then sleeping in terminal 2 until check-in at 5am. He offered to give me a lift. I mentioned this would mean driving at 4:30am. He shrugged his shoulders and said he’d call when he left the party.

After picking me up at my front door and letting me nap in the passenger seat on the way to his house, he then went WAY above and beyond the call and served me a three-course dinner at 3am (I’m not even making this up), let me have another nap while he stayed awake drinking Diet Coke and studying for his med school exams, and finally drove me to Pearson on the silent, empty highway at the ass-crack of dawn.
I wish to go on record as saying, Aly rocks the mostest.

Estimated hours of sleep on Thursday: 2.5 —- Inebriation level: medium

On to New York…

Will Write for Food

Starting to feel a little rejected now. I interviewed for my job — the job I have been performing capably for 12 months — seven days ago, and nobody has said boo to me about it all bloody week. In fact, I think I’m getting the ‘Avoidance Face’ from my manager.

In the words of Cake, I am experiencing “bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse”. Did I say something bad during the interview?

During a moment that I have since erased from my memory, it’s possible that I blurted out “Yeah, I love my job, you know, except for when I have to actually work. Aha! Hah! Ha ha ha (forced laughter trailing off…)” or perhaps “In five years? I see myself dancing on your grave, jackass!” or the classic “Who’s sexy now, whore?” while gesturing at my manager with my still smoking firearm. The trouble is, I just don’t remember. Whole thing’s a blank.

Still, why worry? Unemployment could be fun. Why, even now I’m experimenting with my debt-tolerance. In fact, I’d label myself poverty-curious. This has resulted in a lot of home cooking and rentals from Queen Video. Yesterday it was all-you-can-handle David Lynch night. Twin Peaks followed by Blue Velvet. It kind of made me yearn for the hushed, cadaverless normality of my cubicle, but then I looked at the clock and realized it was 2am. So today I decided not to go into work. That oughta show ‘em! Hire me OR ELSE.

Instead, I choose to use today to rush for tickets at the Film Festival. And maybe get some Mexican food with Ed. And definitely wash all my bedsheets. And help Alastair unpack into his new apartment.

This is MUCH better than earning money. Besides, my audition to read at the CNIB last night went really well, so at the very least I could become a full-time volunteer. Think of the spiritual remuneration.

CHATTY DIARIST WILL WRITE FOR FOOD