I met one of my friends down by Union Square and we walked back to my house, about 6-7 miles depending on how much east/west movement we made. We talked for quite a bit and it was interesting, a decent discussion. Hot and muggy for sure, but worthwhile.
After that we hooked up with some other friends and chatted for awhile before we went to grab some Mexican food. Unfortunately the small scuzzy joint we went to forced us to wait outside for like 15-20 minutes, which was pretty annoying. The waiter even came to take our orders on the sidewalk, but it was fairly silly that we had to do that to begin with. The whole point of opening a small scuzzy restaurant with good food is no muss no fuss no waiting. If we wanted to stand around outside we'd have tried to get into some fancypantsie New York ristorante.
The food was okay, but afterwards I got a horrible stomach ache and some really vile bowel issues, so I had to kick everyone out of my house as soon as I get home. I'm just glad I have two bathrooms as let's just say I needed both of them. The bowels felt better after about an hour, but it was a strong reminder that although dives often have good food, they also often have other issues that need to be considered. I felt a little bit like a laxative bulemic, but unintentionally. I probably ate too much, but I definitely paid for it with interest.
Anyway, the conversation wasn't that huge a deal except that we got offensive in a way that only a bunch of guys from NYC can during our discussion. It started out pretty clean, with pontification on whether it is more emasculating for your girlfriend to cheat on you with Justin Timberlake than it would be with Gary Coleman (yes) and what the ten celebrity women we'd most like to bone were (With typical exchanges like
B: How about Audrey Hepburn in her prime?
A: In her prime? Sure.
G: In the prime of her old age!
A: No fair, you changed the rules!) Real mature stuff.
Then things got really offensive after one friend said "Historical women you'd do purely out of the notariety it'd give you." We were sort of stumped there, weak answers like "Mata Hari" or "Ethyl Rosenberg." Then I hit on a gold mine. I laughed and said
"Anne Frank! You'd get into the diary, in a big way, ("Dear diary, I just had my first sexual experience. It re-affirmed my belief that people are geniuenly good at heart, even though he didn't cuddle afterwards. Still, I think it was sneaky how he offered to give me some sausage, preying on my hunger. My fault for not understanding what kind of meat was being mentioned.) plus you don't have to dump her, the Nazis will take care of it. Promise her that after the war you'll take her away from all that to America or you'll get married or whatever. The break up is predetermined. It's perfect." At the time it was funnier and even more offensive. I also went with Helen Keller, because she can't tell you that her last lay was better, and you have a great excuse for not calling her the next day. My friend tried to outdo me with Jon Benet Ramsey, but I think the night was mine.
I mention this stuff just to show that I am just as offensive and un PC in public in real life as I am online. I am not hiding behind my anonymity to be an outspoken asshole of epic proportions! It's all me, babies.
Maybe the stomach thing was instant Karma.
Oh, one more thing. As we were waiting outside the restaurant to go in, a blind preacher walked down the street towards us. He turned to each of my friends and said that they were god's creations. Then he looked me over, head to toe, with his unseeing eyes and burst out into a chuckle, before heading onwards. Usually I talk back to street holy men (like I do to comedy hawkers) but this was a pretty low blow. When the blind Francophone preacher laughs at you, you know that you're definitely uncool. We guestimated my overall chances of getting laid in my lifetime at around 15%, and determined that I have never done anything over the course of my existance that would make sexual congress with a woman more likely. This Blog is apparently a step in the opposite direction. Of course my friends proceeded to call me gay and tell me to come out of the closet. Ahh, juvenility. If I have my way we're never going to grow up. Childish ways are a great way to spend an evening.