Two wrongs don't make a right, but three rights do make a left.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Old friends, big plans, fat ass, new haunts, huge hangover
In the way back machine (circa 1989), Margaret [photo far right] and I made up the entire lower-brass section in band. We had a strange connection growing up (besides the time she made me do push ups in Jazz Band as a token of my undying affection). Our parent's phone numbers were identical (except the last two numbers transposed). Her mother and my aunt were roommates in college. Her dad was my gym coach in 5th and 6th grade, then again (through a fluke) in 9th and 10th grades.
I got a Facebook invitation from Margaret that her band (TV/TV) was playing Saturday (3/10/2007) Fat Baby, just a block from Teany. I already had plans for a long weekend in New York after spring break, so I decided to switch my trip to see her show.
Mike H., another friend from high school, also lives in New York. I visited him one weekend during DJ school in December 2005, and we stay in touch. I planned to give him a heads-up about this trip, but ended up switching the dates and forgot. I sent him a text message from Ellis Island Saturday afternoon that I was going to Margaret's party at 9:00pm (EST). I found out from Margaret during the day that her parents would be there also (my aunt's college roommate and my junior high and high school gym coach).
Mike met me in front, and we caught the end of TV/TV's set. For me, the highlight of the evening was talking to Margaret's dad, Coach L. Mike was talking to him when I walked over, and Mike re-introduced me. He was like, "You're Amy's brother, right?" [Yeah] "Hey you used to be a fat-ass. You must have lost what? A hundred pounds?" Coach and I had a really good conversation, and Mike's comment (to paraphrase) was that Coach L. always was the self-proclaimed expert on all fitness-related matters.
Mike and I wrapped up at Fat Baby and moved on to Banc to meet his sister. Several of his friends joined us, including two guys named Justin. I was told that one was "white Justin" and one was "black Justin", though I preferred "bald Justin" and "follicular Justin". One of Mike's friends fancies himself quite the player, except he was working the ugliest girl in the room. When the Justins pointed it out to me, the first thing out of my mouth was, "Wow...if she blew me in my car I'd be at DMV the next morning getting new license plates. I'd want no way for her to track me down." Gross.
We closed out our tabs and ventured to Brass Monkey in the Meat Packing district. I didn't realize that we were in the Meat Packing district, but as soon as we walked in the door I realized that we were in a meat market.
Sometime around 3:00am (EDT) I called it quits and went back to my hotel. I made sure my clocks were adjusted for DST, set my alarm, and passed out. I woke up three minutes before the alarm at 9:42am in a panic that I had somehow overslept. When I realized that I was fine for time, and the adrenaline dissipated, my hangover smacked me upside the head. Holy pounding head.