The Walk of Shame

I read BNY's post mentioning the Union Square Green Market a week ago but I'd kind of forgotten, so it was a pleasant surprise to wander through it on my way to the Q. I got a little inspired by the flowers and the springy weather and took some phone photos. They came out pretty well considering I had no macro capability and was just snapping them off willy nilly. Here's the resulting eye candy for ya, courtesy of a couple minutes spent on iPhoto:





In college we used to call it the Walk of Shame, this homeward trek in yesterday's clothes, but I don't really feel ashamed. I feel pretty good, considering the mild hangover...and that I got sent home instead of going to breakfast. I don't really get what that was about, and I was a little irritated by it, but I'm not letting it get to me.

It's kind of weird that today I'm heading home from the Producer's apartment and yesterday at approximately 6:30 I was snuggled up next to Funny Dave at a table at Marshall Stack, drinking wine and playing a weird knee version of footsie. FD marveled at how hard Mrs. 2.0 made me laugh with her amazing true story about fecal exhibitionism in the famous Victoria Gardens, and he and the 2.0s' cool friend the Artist kept me giggling all evening over cookies, English muffin pizzas and sloppy Joes that were more sloppy than Joe. I haven't laughed that hard since I was a kid and Salty and our cousin Jeff pinned me down and tickled me till I stopped breathing. We had a great time out, and between the story and FD and the amazing bartender my sides were sore by the time we all walked to the F train together.

Nobody else wanted to stay out, so I met up in the Village with PDF and his Boyfriend, who were entertaining some nice folks that Boyfriend had been working with. After laughing at some horrific karaoke, we wound up at this awesome lesbian bar. At first we were turned away, but PDF worked some magic and in a moment we filed right in ahead of the crowd waiting outside. It was jam packed full of gorgeous women...and I mean PACKED. Like sardines. Someone shoved a drink in my hand and then I remember dancing with a blonde to George Michael's "Freedom." I chatted up a cutie from Boston but that's about the time my memory starts swimming. I wish I could remember what the bar was called...or even where I was. PDF kept plunking Cape Cods into my grabby hands, and after Boston Girl all I can remember is rainbows all over the ceiling and a little tiny straw in my mouth and dancing all squished up with all those girls.

The next thing I knew I was stumbling down a side street with PDF in tow, shrieking "[PRODUCER]!" at the top of my lungs. And nearly falling over laughing when I finally found the Producer and his poor sweet friend who both looked like deer in the headlights of my giggly drunkenness. There was some pizza involved and I think more drinking, but I really get a little fuzzy until I was put to bed.

This morning was actually a pretty nice walk. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and it was shaping up to be a pretty gorgeous day. I wandered into a store on 14th st and ogled some jewelry, but the stuff I wanted (Kuchi pendants and an "antique" Afghani torque) was kind of expensive, so I moved along. I called PDF while I walked. "so what did you think?" "He's great," he said. "Just be careful, honey." I know, I know.

I think the hardest thing about moving on from breaking off an engagement is how hyper protective people are of me. But it's nice to know they care, and I'm glad they're reminding me to be cautious and above all to concern myself with getting what I deserve. ...And believe me, even though I'm doing the whole live in the moment thing, cautious is my middle name right now.

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Speaking of BNY, this is kind of funny, since I just moved here four months ago, and technically from Ohio.