As far as my normal Saturday night outings go, yesterday was quite tame. Don't get me wrong, I was still drunk out of my mind by the end of the night, but it was a tame night nonetheless.
I spent most of the morning hanging out in my apartment. I caught up on episodes of Entourage, got into the first season of Gilmore Girls and made some really good shrimp tacos. But then I saw the sun peeking out from behind the clouds and decided that maybe some fresh air would do me good.
I went into lower Manhattan to check out the tail end of the San Genaro festival, only to get disillusioned at what a commercialized event it has become. And way over-crowded. I left, went to SoHo and got some retail therapy instead (new dress, clothes for work and seamless undies from VS).
Then the weather turned on me and my stomach started to rumble; I decided to meet Lani for dinner back in Park Slope where I had even more shrimp tacos (I can't get enough!) and a couple of glasses of red wine (uh-oh...here comes trouble). We agreed to a relatively quiet night because Lani was hurt from a bike accident that left her too sore to sneeze, cough, dance or rob a bank...so no running off to Fiji this week...maybe after she heals...
While at a pit stop at Lani's, my mami calls to tell me of the Penzo family mini-reunion she'd just attended. Without me. And I felt the need to remind her that she's not a Penzo, I am, and therefore she's not obligated to attend these functions. Especially not without me.
But I didn't, because if she hadn't gone, then we wouldn't have been able to dish about my little cousin's upcoming wedding and whether or not they'll invite us, and the very suspicious ghetto-booty that another cousin has all of a sudden (I wonder if I can get the number to her surgeon?). Penzo family gossip is always the best- those people are like the cast on a soap opera. Because there's so god damned many of them!
THEN Lani and I went to Loki to partake of more liquor- I decided to try Lani's "Special OJ"- and ogle at the Brooklyn-ites around us. Lani had a friend meet us, and I guess he was cool in that white, Canarsie-hoodish sort of way, and it was his birthday so I was on my best behavior. After a few OJs, the obligatory tequila shots and a quick bagel stop, we went to our fave dive bar, Reis, where we ended up running the pool table- kicking ass and taking names like the true rowdy girls that we are. Lani even almost got into a fight with some dude who obviously didn't realize that she could easily cripple him with one swift kick.
At Reis, Lani's Canarsie friend seemed to lose his thunder (and appeal) and when he decided to leave no one cared. The Red Stripe was flowing (as were the free shots from the bar) and we were wiping the floor with people left and right on that freakin table. The only thing missing from that night was the pizza we were craving after we left the bar (beer munchies are the WORST), a little smoke, and lots of dancing. And the boyfriends that we don't really want but really do, especially on chilly autumn nights when the desire for the warmth of the arms of someone you can tolerate is all that separates us from monkeys.
But it was a hoot to keep making Lani laugh and watch her double over in pain all the way home. Because I'm a true friend that way.
And the drunk dialing I did at the end of the night was fun, too.
And no, it hasn't escaped me that my partying ways are starting to taper, as if I've partied myself to death. It could be age. It could be the new degree, which now no longer allows me to rest on my laurels. I don't have any more excuses for not being published, and the process requires a bit of seriousness, hard work, proactiveness and grown-upiness from me that leaves little room for dancing on bars and hooking up with random CL dudes for one night stands.
Now I have to think about getting query letters out there, getting an agent, marketing myself as more than a pretty face and a good lay. I have to get my name out there, I have to network and know the right people and get the money that will allow me to buy that phat townhouse I saw in Gramercy Park just last month.
And somehow I'm figuring that none of that will come my way if I'm too busy shaking what my momma gave me in bars every night with half a bottle of Jimador saturating my internal organs.
*smooches...officially done celebrating my degree and ready to celebrate my successful liver transplant surgery*
I am days away from change,
From one last touch,
until the next time.
I am days away from waving goodbye,
so long to all of this,
but it's alright.