One of the first beautiful things I learned about NYC is that many places on Sunday morning offer an "unlimited booze" option with their brunch menu. Bottomless mimosas, bloody marys, and sangria - what else could a boy ask for? Perhaps maybe that their bathroom not be down a flight of stairs so I don't have to climb back up them after I excuse myself from the table to throw up? I suppose that would have been too perfect.
My best friend Jason was visiting from Toronto, and we found a little Italian place on 7th Avenue. Our table was uneven so I got under the table and put a cork under the leg to keep it from rocking back and forth. A man at a nearby table came over to say hello. It turned out that when I bent down he had seen the bright purple thong sticking out of my long johns (which I'd worn out the previous night and slept in) and decided to introduce himself. Soon after that we were joined by two random straight girls, one of whom had decided she was going to marry Jason before brunch was through. A text message I received from his fiance later in the day said "You can be our flower girl. I promise the outfits will be purple. You might just be throwing flowers in a thong - start an exercise regimen accordingly." My kind of wedding. Apparently she didn't realize what I was up to in the bathroom. It was also my kind of brunch - we made three new friends! Our new guy friend even had us over to watch the Emmy's (me) and to nap (Jason.) Somehow during the Emmy's our new friend revealed himself to be a massive creep. I'm not sure if we realized this after he randomly took off his pants but by the time he attempted to pick my nose, we were on our way out the door.
The entire weekend was a learning experience - the night before we saw the lovely Erika Jayne perform her new song at Rockit! at Crimson. Why anyone would throw size Large t-shirts at a group of gays is beyond me, but I am wearing mine right now so I can't complain (though I did have to put a belt on to give it some shape.) After that we ventured to Industry, possibly my favourite place in all of NYC, where the DJ played not one, not two, but six Britney Spears songs IN A ROW. Yes please. Once the crowd started to evaporate we went across the street to Therapy where I had a dance off with Red Shirt Guy and made another new friend outside. This guy (Kevin) was tall, dapper, and very very cute. We watched as a group of guys went into Therapy and then immediately came back out. One of these guys was shouting "why is everywhere so dead? This is New York fucking City! Not the fucking midwest!" Kevin took it upon himself to explain to me how to tell the difference between someone who has always lived in NYC and someone who has recently moved to NYC. These guys were clearly not from NYC, and they were assholes. They act like assholes because they think that's how people in NYC act. I said I thought it was a fact that NYC people were generally rude and that it made sense to act like an asshole to fit in. Kevin said "Oh, don't get me wrong - I'm a total cunt. But I'm not an asshole."
In hindsight, I'm not sure how useful that information was.
On our walk home, Jason and I came in very close contact with a rather large asshole. He came up from behind me, but instead of walking around me as he passed, he deliberately body checked my bag. Naturally, I thought he was trying to steal it so I jumped and pulled away from him. He kept walking and I realized that he was just trying to get a reaction out of me. It had worked, though my reaction was to giggle uncontrollably. He turned around, eyes bulging out of his head, and asked if I had a problem. I couldn't speak through my laughter and shock so Jason very calmly said "you startled him." This guy had clearly had a bad night. He was black and wearing a very deep V purple cardigan with nothing underneath. Obviously gay and slightly overweight, he attempted to knock Jason's pizza out of his hand before walking away, which made me laugh even harder. Again, our new friend turned around and asked what was so funny. Again, I had no answer for him but to try to suppress my urge to laugh...we let him get a bit farther ahead before I had to let out the guffaw that was building within me. This situation was completely ridiculous! How could I not laugh? Of course even from the other side of the street he heard me (my laugh is notoriously loud) and turned around for a third time. I almost decided to run but before I could he was right in front of me. This "sketchqueen," as Jason so eloquently put it the next day, was either high or suffering from roid rage. He attempted to knock the open blue Gatorade I was holding out of my hand - causing me to empty the bottle all over him. Before he could react I dashed into the street and hailed a cab. As I got in I shouted "I HOPE THAT'S DRY-CLEAN ONLY!"
I can only hope I never come face-to-face with that guy ever again. And if/when I do, hopefully he doesn't have a concealed weapon. He's probably even more furious now that it's been a few days - realizing he'll never be able to wear that cardigan again. If he's like me he doesn't have laundry facilities in his building.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don't really like to do laundry in the first place - I own a lot of clothes that are delicate and putting them through the washer damages them, makes them change shape, makes their colours fade...etc. I like to do laundry as infrequently as possible. My mom knows this and so last week I received a text message from her that looked something like "Hope you're having a great day - do your laundry." I told her I was going to the laundromat soon and she said "Please tell me this isn't the first time you've done laundry since you moved there" so I told her it wasn't but I think we both knew it was. She knows me too well! She also knows I own enough underwear to last for a month and a half, so it's no big deal.
So I went to the laundromat. I had hoped my experience there would be enough for an entire blog post but sadly, I didn't have much luck. The elderly black man operating the place was enthusiastically watching whatever soap opera was on at full blast. He even applauded when one character told her friend "you can change your clothes and your hair, but you'll always just be a little white girl from Brooklyn." Otherwise it was devoid of much excitement. Though I did think the name of the laundromat was very appropriate.
I have been called Queen of many things, but never laundry.
-BO
