The Private Men's Drinking Club

When I'm outside, walking down 5th ave on an errand, feeling a little manic but the fresh air reviving me, singing loudly to the Pixies and *coughalloutboycough* on my ipod, remembering embarrassing and/or funny things from last night -

- for instance, the Private Men's Drinking Club at Suarez's where the gentlemen were all looking very dapper and many were wearing fake mustaches [althought obviously Lauren looked way better than any of them in one], or the fact that despite meeting Alex Sarti seven or so months ago, the first night I hung out with these kids, I had my first conversation with him last night [umm, about the mall. We're Jersey kids, so sue us.] - and does anyone remember why Rob was giving me chinese burns like we were ten years old - or, for that matter, why I was letting him?? I have vague recollections of a conversation along the lines of:

Rob: Does this hurt?
Me: No. I have a younger sister, I'm used to this shit.
Rob: Does this hurt?
Me: No.
Rob: Does this hurt?
Me: Ow. Fuck. Yes.

- and the sun is shining, well then it's all gravy.

Then I get back to my desk and sit down and feel a teensy bit dizzy, headachy and possibly sick.

Serves me right? Good times...