my bike is shit hott
that's all i can think to say today that isn't something along the lines of:
* fucking terrorist dickheads, leave my city the fuck alone.
* man, i'm kinda beat. i need to start averaging more than 3.5 hours of sleep a night.
* i'm *so* glad tmrw is both friday and payday. what shall i do this weekend?
yesterday was such a weird, weird day: really emotionally intense morning, boring afternoon, then one of those nice NY evenings where you're meant to hit open bars but due to people being late and then bumping into guys whose party you crashed last friday on houston and then stopping for ice cream, you just squeak in to one open bar - but the barman can't seem to understand your accent so gives you the wrong drinks ["two vodkas and soda" "cola?" "no, *soda*" "there ya go, two vodka-cokes" "ewwww"] so you leave and just miss the end of the other open bar because it's a balmy night and you're happy just drifting along. the other bar has fishnett-stockinged pole dancers upstairs and a podium for the crowd to have (some very graphic) fun on downstairs where you're dancing until blur comes on (hah), so you go back upstairs and bump into various random and not so random people that you know, and top up your drinks from your hipflask until it's empty and you realise that you're all broke and kinda tired. so you head out and walk up ave a then along st marks place because w--- wants to see how much they've changed the neighbo(u)rhood and he makes you stop at a hotdog diner where they're playing thunderbirds (although maybe it was team america)
highlight of the evening:
the bouncer outside boysroom yelling at me for talking on my phone in the wrong place but me not hearing until he bellows: "hey! british! MOVE IT!" i haven't been called that yet. i loved it.
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