Suburban White Boy Survives A Night Out
And we're sober. Let's talk.
So yes, this was my first time in the city. I will now attempt to reconstruct a few highlights. As perceived by me. As best as I can recall.
The day began as any other. A visit to the office; meetings, catered lunch, and too many interruptions to get any work done. But news soon arrives that someone in finance was able to hook us up with V.I.P passes to AER, in which there was an alleged supermodel show sponsored by Victoria Secret and Sports Illustrated. Sigh. If we must.
The evening started out innocent enough. A drive out of Ridgewood and into Lower Manhattan. Thankfully traffic was tolerable because my bladder spent most of the commute swelling into my diaphram, inhibiting my breathing secondary to, well, the beers I consumed while I waited for my female colleague to dress and rearrange the evening plans. Indeed an exceptional planner.
Dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant off of 12th and Washington in which the 7 of us consume an unknown number of drinks, 3 bottles of wine, and engage in pleasantries. I had the scallops, you wore black. Delicious.
Inside the club somewhere in the Meat Market area. Sounds gay, I know, but then again, so is Canada. John, I ordered two. We waited. You didn't show. I did what was best. Several times.
New York, you make a stiff drink. Papa likey.
And here's the result. While I don't remember any scantily-clad supermodels prancing around, I do recall two things: #1, balloons, and #2, taking this picture. This is Chad and Donald (names changed to protect the innocent). I don't know them. I also don't know if Chad is displaying some kind of local welcome or acceptance gesture or just getting ready to flick a booger on me.
Good sports non-the-less.
Yeah. You're guess is as good as mine.
And this takes us to where we left off from our previous post. Where the previous 4 hours were and where the following 12 hours went, I'm not entirely sure. But what I do know is this; NY, your scallops are delicious, your women are heavenly, and your parking is a bitch. I shall return.
I will now spend the next few days wondering how the hell I made my flight out of Newark that morning and counting my blessings for being able to keep that delicious, heaven-sent, vacuum-sealed cheese-whiz burger provided by Continental, down. Someday I hope to digest it.
So yes, this was my first time in the city. I will now attempt to reconstruct a few highlights. As perceived by me. As best as I can recall.
The day began as any other. A visit to the office; meetings, catered lunch, and too many interruptions to get any work done. But news soon arrives that someone in finance was able to hook us up with V.I.P passes to AER, in which there was an alleged supermodel show sponsored by Victoria Secret and Sports Illustrated. Sigh. If we must.
The evening started out innocent enough. A drive out of Ridgewood and into Lower Manhattan. Thankfully traffic was tolerable because my bladder spent most of the commute swelling into my diaphram, inhibiting my breathing secondary to, well, the beers I consumed while I waited for my female colleague to dress and rearrange the evening plans. Indeed an exceptional planner.
Dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant off of 12th and Washington in which the 7 of us consume an unknown number of drinks, 3 bottles of wine, and engage in pleasantries. I had the scallops, you wore black. Delicious.
Inside the club somewhere in the Meat Market area. Sounds gay, I know, but then again, so is Canada. John, I ordered two. We waited. You didn't show. I did what was best. Several times.
New York, you make a stiff drink. Papa likey.
And here's the result. While I don't remember any scantily-clad supermodels prancing around, I do recall two things: #1, balloons, and #2, taking this picture. This is Chad and Donald (names changed to protect the innocent). I don't know them. I also don't know if Chad is displaying some kind of local welcome or acceptance gesture or just getting ready to flick a booger on me.
Good sports non-the-less.
Yeah. You're guess is as good as mine.
And this takes us to where we left off from our previous post. Where the previous 4 hours were and where the following 12 hours went, I'm not entirely sure. But what I do know is this; NY, your scallops are delicious, your women are heavenly, and your parking is a bitch. I shall return.
I will now spend the next few days wondering how the hell I made my flight out of Newark that morning and counting my blessings for being able to keep that delicious, heaven-sent, vacuum-sealed cheese-whiz burger provided by Continental, down. Someday I hope to digest it.
