I went to a birthday party for a friend that was held at the same place that Project Runway was having their post Bryant Park celebration. The Santino season. Prior to the party, I had been at one of those trashy Mexican places that doesn't card. If there is ever a fire at my apartment, I can be found there or the Dallas BBQ. To make a long story short, I was trashed already. I also had conjunctivitus, so I had to wear sunglasses at night. Ridiculous.
At the party, I keep getting drunker, until at one point, after having a sip of a jack and coke I realized that Diana, the small, unassuming asian girl from that season was trying to have a sexy party with me. This coming after I had sexually harassed Santino and told Daniel Franco that I had seen him the weekend earlier in the Lower East Side and that he BETTER stop following me. Once outside, I immediately start vomming into a trash can. My moment of greatness.
After about 15 minutes of pure elegance, I got a cab and went home. The obvious solution to being drunk is to eat and take a shower. I refer you to the burrito situation of St. Patty’s Day. This is my fucking m.o. My roomate made me an english muffin, which I brought into the bathroom with me (much like Dickens, I use symbolism) and I got in the shower.
I felt extremely heavy and became pretty convinced I was having a heart-attack and/or stroke. I swear I have 5 of each a day and yet I live! I started to panic and got out of the shower. Then I looked down. I actually went into the shower with my socks and a sweatshirt. My stupid ass felt heavy because I was toting 10 pounds of fabric up in that bitch. I then took these things off and went to sleep I woke up the next day with puke in my hair and the english muffin was still on its plate next to the toilet. It would grow accustomed to such luxury, and would stay there for a week.