Sun Jan 15

At this very moment my roommate is hurling into the toilet for the fifth time. He's just dry-heaving at this point, but the noise is terrific. It sounds like a number of donkeys are dying violently in the other room. I suppose this is an improvement over the PROJECTILE VOMITING earlier in the subway station and on the subway itself! The other occupant of the car was very supportive ("Take care of yourself, man"), but I'm sure the MTA cleaning crew will be non too happy.
So I should backup the story a little. I (he just went in for #6) got into New York and hopped the SuperShuttle as I always do. The driver went around collecting the addresses from all of the passengers the girl next to me give a very familiar locale. Hey, she lives in my building! So we chat it up - smalltalk and stuff. She's a dance major, she lives on the 10th floor (I'm on the 18th), and that kind of jazz. I think she's nice and all, but I'm not really interested interested in her. We haul our lugage into the elevator, she get's off at 10, I get off and 18, and check in with home sweet home.
Later that night, roommate tells me there's a knocking at the door (speaking of him, things sound pretty intense in there right now) and he can't answer it because he's watching 24. Suprise! It's my SuperSuttle pal and two of her friends from 10. Sensing girls, roommate (who just crawled back into bed, hopefully for good this time) mutes the TV and (false alarm - back at it again) joins our meet and greet in the kitchen. We alternate smalltalk and my usual antics and it's clear that roommate really digs one of the ladies - my origonal airport aquintance. He suggests we all go out to a bar or something. Well these girls wouldn't be able to decide about when to breathe if it weren't an autonomic function, so we eventually convince them that yes, they do want to come - I'm just going along with roommate.
We - excuse me - he takes about half an hour to get ready (we said we'd me them downstairs in ten) and I call Lex while I'm waiting to say "Hi, I'm back!" She informs me that there is a party at Nick K's and I should come. I never get formally invited to these things, not because I'm not welcome (I hope), but because I generally don't hit the parties, so no one thinks of inviting me. I say I'll try to make it.
We meet the older girls and head to the Village. We decide on Caliente and everyone else gets margaritas (I shared some w/ the girl). They're nice ladies, but not really my type. Sort of boring, if you know what I mean. Roommate says he's getting "mixed signals" from his interest and the other two are just pretty tired. We invite them to the party but they just think they'll get some sleep. Fine with us. Goodnight. Buh-bye.
We make the party scene and everyone I know is there, which is great because I usually don't like parties with a lot of strangers (most parties), so I got to have a really nice time. I find out later that this is a birthday party for Nick K (he and I are friends, but not really good friends. It's a complex dynamic between us; we're both secretely jealous of each other, I suspect). We sing and dance but there's no cake. (He is still going at it. I can't believe this; it just doesn't let up!) I did manage to meet some new folks and I'm pretty sure I got hit on by a girl named Sara and a guy named Drew. More people showed up later, like a bombed Scarlette, the two Kiles, and Kerry. Lizz got smahed out of her fucking skull, as usual, and Dara and I had a lovely conversation (she's a sweety).
Three O'Clock rolled around and I remember that roommate said we should leave by two, so I make the gestures of departure. I get roomy - who is thoroughly drunk, if you hadn't guessed - and we make our exit. I don't feel like waiting for the safty van, so we head for the subway. He's pretty proud about getting two - no wait, three [phone] numbers!
--
It's not funny anymore.