On Thursday, January 8, 2009 I started receiving text messages from old Frat Bros saying, “LOCK IN! R U Cumming?” Do I make the arduous journey down to Manhattan on Friday for a sinful night of alcohol abuse accompanied by lack of sleep, less women, and a hangover replete with misery and shame? Absolutely.
Friday January 9, 2009
7:00PM – Game time decision. I Pack my shit, hop in the techno truck, and leave what I like to call the, “Paris of New England,” or Hartford, all while lighting one parliament love stick one after the other.
7:18PM – Stop at Starbucks for some Seattle crybaby juice and barely make it to the head before wetting my khakis. I get back in the techno truck and think about what hookerish women I’ll encounter this evening. Will we even remember to eat food this time? My head starts to hurt so I blast some tunes, specifically:
8:00PM – Get bored and decide to call my grandmother in hopes that she will be severely inebriated by now. Delightfully, she is. I can hear the ever so subtle slur as the veteran 94-year-old booze champion sips her refreshing vodka martini (1 shaker per night minimum). Why do I like speaking with Nana after she’s knocked some back? Simple, she can’t bother me about issues she sees in WSJ like the Gaza strip or the US auto industry… Instead I escape with only one question about that “Bald Fellow that is single-handedly try to save American Business,” a.k.a. Hank ‘Big Poppa’ Paulsen. I hang up. Techno goes back on.
8:26PM – It begins. My iphone starts lighting up like a goddamn Polish Cathedral. The cat’s out of the litterbox.
Hookerish Girl: I know ur coming to nyc and didn’t inform me. We are in a major fight
Tyrannosaurus Me: Frat bro lockin. I’ll call u when I get in.
Hookerish Girl: I have the flu… Nio fun
Tyrannosaurus Me: Do u really? [Swerve to avoid cars on the Bruckner Expressway]
Hookerish Girl: Ya miserable
Tyrannosaurus Me: Sorry we could always have sex
Hookerish Girl: Ur so out right
Hookerish girl: ..Its hottt haha
Tyrannosaurus Me: Fuck the fever out of you
Hookerish Girl: Woww just woww
Tyrannosaurus Me: That’s what she said
Hookerish Girl: Ur so Suaave
Tyrannosaurus Me: And I’m still sober
Hookerish Girl: Ooo lala ohh baby
Of course I completely forget to call her later. Who the fuck squealed I think to myself. The last thing I need is a welcoming party after my showing over New Year’s Eve. But that’s another story. Fuck! That forced but consensual sex scene in the 300 comes to mind where McNulty from The Wire dressed as a Greek douche bag says to Sarah Connor Chronicles, “This will not be over quickly.” Damnit! I shout cranking the techno back up trying to put my mind at ease. An angry mob of enraged bitches will literally come after me with torches and pitchforks. I realize I need a drink and I need it fast.
8:47PM – I get off the FDR at Midtown and prepare to meet up with THE HAWK!!!!
8:51PM – I park my car and walk to the entrance of HAWK’S apartment. I am greeted by one of those lifer doormen (wearing gloves even) who seems to see right through my pathetic party-addicted existence. I tell him I’m here to see THE HAWK!!! Making the Sylvester Stallone hand motion from Over the Top… the joke doesn’t go over well as he pierces my soul with his burning eyes. I then say the real name as he frowns and lifts the phone receiver to his mouth. I scamper to the elevator with my tail between my legs like a battered cocker spaniel whining like I have to take a piss.
8:53PM – I come in hot to the HAWK’S NEST only to find the Hawk having a quiet candlelit dinner with his Dad and Dad’s GF. Fuck Again! I say to myself as I observe they only have some artichoke with drawn butter on the table and haven’t even started the main course. The last thing I want to do is sit down to a quiet dinner while reeking of drive stress and West Virginia bowling alley.
8:55PM – After brief introductions I have a seat at the table while the Hawk pours me a lovely glass of some dry Pinot Noire. He is my savior right now. Reluctantly, I agree to have some food that was prepared by the Dad’s GF. I am relaxing, getting into the mood, and feeling okay. Then she drops the bomb. The recipe is from the Hawk himself. What have I done? I can only equate eating a recipe from the Hawk’s personal menu to buying your produce from the garbage man. I start worrying as the Dad’s GF starts talking about how great the flavors of the “Rocket Salad” and “Forbidden Rice” go together. This is the worst combination of words I’ve ever heard. The GF starts eyeballing me and asks me what I think of the rice. It’s large brownish/black colored granules lumped in a pile like mouse droppings on the edge of my plate. I slowly take a fork full and choke those fuckers down. After a moment and some forced chewing I realize it’s actually pretty good. Relief washes over me like a warm bath with a hooker in it giving me a BJ.
9:45PM – We finish dinner and decide we need to feed the livers more. We go to the liquor store to buy some Booker Noe Bad Ass juice and some Russian firewater.
To Be Continued…
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