St. Patrick's day is a big deal in New York City. I heretofore ban any holiday that requires a parade, including the gay one and except maybe Halloween. If I had seen one more skank with green hair I might have lost it. Or boys puffing their chests out in drunken rowdiness. I was throwin' 'bows all the way to 84th Street, and during my journey I saw one timefighting rode-hard-hung-up-wet lady in green crying from her blood shot red, drunk eyes, being ushered into another bar by a friend. Honey, there are two events that can happen while drinking heavily that indicate it’s time to definitely call it a night (or day as it were): 1) when your face is in your palms on the bar, and 2) if at any point you start crying.
I spent Thursday night and all day Friday at a hotel near La Guardia for a meeting of big-shots that moved at a surprisingly nice pace and was, in the end, pretty informational and enjoyable. Once the snow started, however, everyone panicked because their flights home would inevitably be delayed. We managed to get them all rooms for an additional night and to wish them well before I was whisked off by the car service to my home, which is no more than five miles away.
Returning to the office after two days away, I am reminded of all the work that has to be done today and wonder if I will have to stay late today. Paper breeds paper in this office, and I have an endless stack to sort through, travel arrangements to be made for countless incompetents, hotel contracts to alter and room lists to create. I am overwhelmed already and I've been here for less than forty five minutes.
Thursday night at the hotel I was running back and forth trying to get everything set up in the room for the meeting the following day, no doubt looking exhausted and disheveled, and lo and behold if, while waiting on the elevator, I don’t see my criminal-record-challenged trysexual/buysexual love interest coming out of the gift shop. Let’s call him Tariq (because that’s his name).
Except that it wasn’t really Tariq. The site of this doppelgaenger, however, still filled me with confusion, as I haven't heard from him in ages. I stood there, mouth agape, eyes bugging out of my head, and the not-Tariq, some kind of delivery person or hotel-employee, looked back at me, perhaps finding it strange that I was staring so profusely, and said..."How are you?"
"Doing okay, how are you?"
And that was that. The moments I run into attractive people are always the days when I’m looking particularly rough (maybe there's just too many of those days happening in general). For instance, there is this little shorty here in the building, so cute and sweet, and whenever we cross paths he gives me this gigantic smile, and speaks. I am absolutely in love with him. Of course every time I see him I have a caveman beard happening, sunken eyeballs, and a desperate need for a haircut. I never could run into him on a day when I am fresh from the barber shop, with clean exfoliated skin and a good night's sleep. It's just not how the universe works.
In other news I saw Little Miss Sunshine (loved it) and Prime (it was okay).