storytime

In light of the update void, I will now grace y'all with a selection of events from the past couple weeks...That's right friends; it's storytime.

Story 1
Anna, Nate, Hal and myself have planned a little Spring Break trip to Mexico, via cruise. The whole thing is all paid for and everyone is very excited about the upcoming vacation. The only thing left to do in preparation was to sit down and buy our plane tickets to Florida. We painstakingly looked on every discount site imaginable before finally selecting the perfect flight. I, being a greedy asshole, proclaimed that I wanted to go first so that I could pick the seat I wanted (aisle girl all the way). I quickly shoved my credit card at Anna, before anyone else could claim the position. I got a great seat, and everything seemed to be going well.

It was then that Nate went to get his ticket. Lo and behold, there were no more available tickets on that flight. Apparently, I got the last one. Which means that Anna, Nate, and Hal are all traveling together on a later flight, and I get to wake up at 4am to take the train to the airport by myself. I also get the privilege of waiting for them in the Palm Beach airport...again, by myself. Karma's a bitch.


Story 2
I recently went to NYC for a night to visit my dear friend Lyndsay, and reminisce about when I had free nights and weekends to frolic around in the fair city. We settled on Joshua Tree, an 80s throwback bar nestled in the Jersey-ridden hell commonly known as Murray Hill.

We arrived in style but were disappointed to discover that there was no coat check in site. After scanning the coat scene for a few minutes, we ultimately decided to take careful aim, and throw our jackets on top of a lonesome jukebox. This plan worked out famously, and left us to get our drink on. We had been drinking and hanging out at the bar for some time, when an older woman approached us (I will take this opportunity to sidenote, and say that older was meant to imply a woman in her late 30s, and no dear readers, do I think 30 is old, I am simply trying to illustrate that she was generally old-er than the typical clientele at said Murray Hill bar...no disrespect!). She asked us where we had put her coats and we let her in on the brilliance of the coat jukebox. She forced her purse and drink on us to hold, disposed of said coat, and returned to chat it up.It seemed pretty harmless at first, women are typically a safe bet when engaging in conversation with a strange older person at a bar.

It was then that "Kat" asked us if we were single. Lyndsay and I casually told her we were, and Kat proceeded to tell us all about her two friends that we would "totally go for". Not knowing what these friends might be like, we proceeded with caution seeing as Kat was pushing 40. It wasn't long before Kat introduced us to her boyfriend, who PURRED and MEOWED at every mention of her name. I found it odd that Kat kept poking me in the stomach and winking as we talked with her nutjob boyfriend, but brushed it off without thinking about it too much. A little later Kat introduced us to this second friend of hers. He was significantly drunker than the other two, which may be why I didn't think it was that strange that he spoke about how long he had been "involved" with Kat and her boyfriend. Lyndsay and I began to grow uncomfortable with our new company, and threw in the bathroom card.

We casually left to use the "facilities" and turned to each other for a recap at the end of the bar. We spent the remainder of the evening in the back, afraid to run into our new friends. When we finally decided to hit the road, we put a whole series of acrobatic feats into play as we twisted and dodged to avoid them. It wasn't until we were standing in the front of the bar that we were able to look back and see all 3 of them at different areas in the bar, talking to different people.

Later, while standing on the street, it finally dawned on us that we had been accosted by swingers. Only in Murray Hill.


Story 3
Since birth, I have been cursed with the fate of being a loud talker. Even when I consciously try to speak softly, I fail. Add any type of alcohol into that equation and you're asking for trouble. Now that we've established my lack of volume control, we can get this story underway:

Sometime last week, Nate and I went out for date night. We had previously gotten tickets to the Imogen Heap concert, and decided to grab a bite to eat before hand. We settled on Valanni's, a restaurant that our favorite studio teacher had designed. Nate is one of the few people that I tend to have really deep conversations with, and somewhere throughout this particular conversation, in a moment of extreme melodrama, I declared that I sometimes doubt I'll ever get married.

Mid-conversation, a couple was seated next to us. We continued on with our discussion (again...with me attempting to censor my volume...because lets face it, the whole world doesn't need to know I'm going to die alone). A few minutes into their time at the restaurant, there was a commotion next to us. The man had moved from his seat, to a kneeling position on the floor. Nate and I looked at each other in disbelief, as we heard him ask his girlfriend to marry him. She accepted, and he returned to his seat to enjoy the evening with his brand new fiance. This was all very exciting. Neither of us had ever witnessed a proposal before, and we couldn't get over the fact that of all the times for it to happen, it occurred during that particular conversation. A few minutes passed, and once we finally picked our jaws up off the table, Nate and I turned to them with huge smiles and congratulatory wishes. They happily said thank you...right before the man turned to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said rather loudly, "I'm sorry I had to do that right after you said you didn't think you were ever going to married."

I was MORTIFIED, in a this-is-the-best-thing-that's-ever-happened-to-me, I-can't-wait-to-blog-about-it sort of way...perhaps I really am cut out for this whole writing thing?