That was me, hanging off the couch this morning. What’s not shown is my father walking by me and giggling like a little kid who taped a kick me sign on his teacher. Thanks, Dad.
I’m in New York City, the city where no one actually drives themselves anywhere, so everyone can get totally slap happy drunk as long as they have someone to toss them into a cab or onto the correct subway platform. I was blessed with a group of these people last night.
The evening technically started at Smith and Wollensky’s Steak House for “family dinner” with mom, dad, and one of my friends/almost adopted sister from childhood, The Blonde. Whenever I come back east, I convince my parents that I’m not paid enough to eat really well and they should take me out for a really good steak. and martini. and profiteroles filled with ice cream. with my friend. Somehow, it never fails. I ordered a large Grey Goose Martini. My father and I conquered the chilled seafood appetizer like we had not been given a meal since 1989, and then moved on to very large cuts of steak. I enjoyed Fillet Mignon au Poivre (aka covered in pepper) and housed nearly an entire side of asparagus by myself. Then came profiteroles with extra chocolate sauce and coffee. It was an awesome meal, people. Be jealous.
From there we headed south to The Blond’s Kip’s Bay apartment to pre-game with Absolute Ruby Red (so tasty!) and soda. I should have known then that it was going to be a rough morning. I put on my big girl drinking pants and headed out to Arlo & Esme’s on 1st Street to meet my NY nearest dearests.
I drank vodka all night. I live in Portland, Oregon, so I’ve become a total snobby bitch when it comes to beer and since nothing was up to Portland par, my friends ordered me vodka-tonics. Sadly, I went from zero to crunk in, oh, 10 minutes flat. The Blond, far more versed in long distance drinking, saw this and tried to feed me diet coke and water, which was counterbalanced by the boys feeding me funky mixed drinks and, of course, more vodka. The tequila shots came out and somehow back up sobriety jump-started enough presence of mind to cut me off. The big girl pants were too big. I was back to being a beer drinking light weight. What a waste of conditioning during grad school. *sigh*
The Quat and JoJo packed it in around 2am. Since everyone else I know lives downtown except them, I hazily decided to hop on the uptown cab share. Sitting on a stoop out side of the bar I took stock of my belongings. Cellphone? check. Credit Cards? check. Drivers License? Check. Camera? Check. Then I saw a big gaping space in my tiny hobo wallet/purse. No keys. Shit. I looked up at #3, helplessly and said,
“…no keys… can’t go home… ever again…” and I believed it completely.
“Oh, man. I’ll find them. Stay here.” She knew exactly where they were, which was weird. I still have no idea what the hell i did to lose my keys.
I got home around 2:30 and no one was waiting up for me. I know, I’m 26 years old, but still. These are my Greek parents we’re talking about.
I woke up at 5:30am. All I wanted was some water and something to put in my belly, but I knew that my parents were up. I stayed in bed for over an hour trying to figure out how to acquire liquid without being seen. I felt 16 again. At almost 7am, I decided that at closer to 30 than 20, I’m a damn adult and I can handle this.
Those Assholes laughed at me. Dad made me toast and tea and continued to snicker and my lifeless body lay on the couch watching law and order. I’ve moved into bedroom where I can steal internet from their crazy next door neighbor and have had two bowls of Product 19 with vanilla soy milk.
I’m supposed to go out again tonight. blurrrrrrrg. 
