Back off the wagon

Highlights of the weekend:

Saturday: Going to 2 fashion shows on Saturday and then as I tried to get ready for the evening’s festivities, not being able to find a suitable outfit for over 2 hours so I could look cute for Stern b-school boys. Being in the same room with models for a portion of one’s day will kill all of the body positive ‘I love myself’ vibes that my healthy living has cultivated. Especially when I came to the realization that no matter how much I spend on my hair ($150 today), personal training sessions, seven jeans, PLASTIC SURGERY, I will never ever ever look as good as they look on a bad day. Ever. And realized that every single man who I will ever date will secretly compare me to the women who I will never ever look like.

Saturday night: Listening to John call directory assistance that is outsourced to some Midwestern city asking for the phone # of “the Cock.” Suffice to say that ‘one moment while we connect you to the operator” was a lot more than just a moment. They actually disconnected us from the operator in one moment, possibly because I was laughing the entire time.

Sunday during the day: Go rollerblading along the Hudson and am reminded that it is 9/11. As someone who grew up right outside the city, it is a day that has touched us all and not only NYers, etc. My biggest pet peeve, however, is that all of the attendants at the memorial service by Ground Zero were tourists from Oklahoma who were captivated by the memorial service and stood on the bike path where I rollerblade. This would have been fine if they were aware that I do not know how to stop on rollerblades. A busty red head lip syncing to Madonna barrels down on a family who is trying to pay their respects. I clipped a toddler’s foot, I couldn’t stop on time. Afterwards Dim Sum with John at the Golden Unicorn and getting yelled at the Chinese wait staff.

Sunday: Seeing Lizzie Grubman at the AG fashion show. Great Goody bag, Lizzie. We all could really use Elle Girl magazine because the audience fit that 13-15 demographic so well. I would comment on the other stuff in the bag, but there was nothing else. But all of my pretension aside, I was in the same room as Lizzie Grubman!!! At a fashion show who she did PR for!!!

By this time it is Sunday morning, keep in mind that I have spent the ENTIRE weekend up until this point…SOBER. Did not drink Fri night, did not drink Sat night, and I did not drink any of the free booze at the shows. I even pretended to be an alcoholic in recovery because the diet cokes were meant only for the booze at one show. I was being good. I even posted a crappy blog post on Saturday that chronicled my parents’ mutual love of the sauce. (Sorry readers, I tried to make it funny but I guess reading about someone’s predisposition to a lifetime of addiction really can never be that funny.)

Now we are at Sunday night. The night where most normal, career orientated people prepare for the work week, go home and peruse the CL personal ads, and watch the Simpsons. Not that I am speaking of any personal experience. But the British contingency was in town (my friend from college Emma and her friend Pete) and they wanted their last night in NYC to go out with a bang. The end result is me Banged up: me waking up in a puddle of vomit in my bed (hoping Chinese launderers can save my white 600 thread count sheets) and going into work still drunk. With make-up down my face.

And I lost my cell phone that night but luckily some random girls found it and called me. Do you know how drunk I had to be to lose my cell phone!?!

And I got a phone # of a cute boy that we both have a lot of common interests, one of which is our mutual affinity for sucking dick. I swear, I am a magnate for gay men.

Evidently in my drunken stupor I had an entire NYC subway car laughing as I outlined how shitty my dating life is…complete with falling for gay men. I did a stand up routine on the E train at 12am, on my way to the next bar, when I was already intoxicated from the first because of $5 cosmo night.

But by coming into work drunk, I felt incredibly more comfortable with my co-workers. Granted I was so inebriated this morning that I just didn’t care, but more importantly they saw a side of me that I was trying to hide. A side of me that is so fundamentally your author. No matter what job I do, who I work for, which degrees I have from prestigious universities…I am the quintessential alcoholic party girl. I dance on bars, kiss gay boys, vomit in beds…I’ll forever act like I am 19 in a bar with a bad fake ID, despite the fact that all of my friends are in LTRs and I have nobody left to get fucked up with. (Not just drunk but incredibly fucked up as in write my name on my arm because I do not know how I am going to otherwise get home.)